Brave the Storm
by LacedX
Summary: Life after the war does not quite conform to Hermione Granger's hopes or expectations and when the post-war baby boom calls for additional teaching support at Hogwarts, a despairing Hermione opts to return to the place where it all began. Please note that this story does not entirely comply with JK Rowling's epilogue, sidestepping the death of one very important man.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 **Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy's shell.**

The silence that followed was deafening, but it did not compare to the tumultuous roar that erupted moments later.

Ron and Hermione hurtled towards Harry and wrapped their arms round his middle before Ginny, Neville, Luna and the Weasleys joined them in a crushing embrace. They were instantly surrounded by numerous faces and bodies, pressing in around the Chosen One and holding onto any part of him that they could reach, all to the sound of thunderous cheers.

Mere seconds had passed before Harry struggled to disentangle himself from the Devil's Snare-like grip of his jubilant friends.

Hermione glanced upwards and released her grip as she spotted the agitation on his face.

'Harry?' Her voice was muffled by the clamour. 'Harry, what's wrong?'

'I need through!' he shouted. 'I need to speak to Madam Pomfrey.'

Hermione watched the words form on his lips as his eyes darted in all directions, seeking one face in particular.

'Why? Are you hurt?'

'Everything OK, mate?' asked Ron as Harry elbowed his way through the crowd, ducking under their outstretched limbs.

Madam Pomfrey was hugging a tearful Professor Sprout, whose patched hat had fallen onto the floor. Harry lurched forward as he spotted the matron through the gap of entwined arms and torsos.

Ron looked completely nonplussed as Hermione tugged on his arm and dragged him through the throng. Eyes followed them as they hastened across the Entrance Hall.

'What's wrong, Harry?'

'Where's he going?'

'Harry?'

'What's going on? What's happening?'

'Madam Pomfrey!' shouted Harry. 'I –'

'Potter?' Madam Pomfrey's joy twisted into alarm as Harry hurried to her side. 'What's the matter?'

'I need you to go to the Shrieking Shack.'

Realisation dawned on Hermione as the crowd stared at Harry in bewilderment.

'The Shrieking Shack? Whatever for?'

'Harry...' began Hermione.

'It's urgent,' insisted Harry as he raised his hand to silence Hermione. 'It's Professor Snape.'

'Snape?'

' _Snape_?'

'What about him?'

Professor McGonagall swept towards them. Despite the bruises and the deep gash along her cheekbone, her features had lost none of their severity.

'What are you talking about, Potter?' she asked.

'He's badly wounded. Nagini, the snake –'

'Leave him, that's wha' I say,' grunted Hagrid.

'You don't understand,' said Harry. His voice cracked in his throat.

The tumult quietened to a low hum as Harry spoke. He glanced around at the faces of the Hogwarts staff, Dumbledore's Army, the remains of the Order and his fellow students, which regarded him with quiet curiosity as he related the story of Snape's pact with Dumbledore.

'We can't just leave him, not after –' He swallowed. 'Not after everything he's done.'

'Harry, it's too late.' Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder. 'He's been there for hours. The venom will have penetrated his system by now.'

Harry brushed her hand from his shoulder and turned to Madam Pomfrey.

'Severus,' repeated Madam Pomfrey as she clasped a hand to her forehead. Disbelief was etched into the lines in her face. 'But he –'

'He's been working for Dumbledore ever since Voldemort made his plans to kill her – my parents, I mean,' he faltered. 'If there's the slightest possibility that he could be alive, we have to try.'

'So, he wer just pretendin' to be on You-Know-Who's side?' asked Hagrid as he propped himself against Grawp's knee. His beady eyes skirted over the pale corpse splayed across the floor of the Entrance Hall.

'Severus was working for the Order all along?' asked Arthur Weasley. The red-haired man looked exhausted and worn as he approached. He was grimy from battle and sweat shone on his freckled forehead.

'Yes,' said Harry. 'Dumbledore had intended for Snape to kill him as proof of his loyalty to Voldemort so that he'd be appointed Headmaster. Albus didn't want the school to be left in the hands of the Death Eaters and Snape was the only one who would be able to protect the students.'

'How do you know all of this, Potter?' asked Professor McGonagall.

'The Pensieve,' he replied. 'I saw everything.'

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she spied a flicker of hesitancy, almost sheepishness, beneath his fierce determination.

'I can hardly believe it,' said Professor Flitwick. 'He certainly played his part well.'

'He would have had to,' muttered Professor McGonagall.

'There isn't much time. We have to move quickly!' said Harry, addressing Madam Pomfrey. 'If we –'

'Harry,' said Hermione, cutting through him. 'I told you that it's no use.'

'Miss Granger is right,' said Professor Slughorn, shaking his head as he stepped towards Harry. 'Snake venom is particularly potent. One can hardly expect to survive more than an hour after being bitten.'

Harry was unmoved.

'There _has_ to be a way...Mr Weasley!' said Harry triumphantly as he turned to face Ron's father. 'Two years ago, you were attacked by Nagini at the Ministry and you –'

'I was treated in the nick of time, Harry,' said Arthur gently. 'Any longer and it would have been fatal.'

'He could still make it, if we go _now_.'

Hermione's heart sank as she listened to the defiant hope in Harry's voice. She could not share his optimism as she remembered the rasp of Snape's voice and his curious, final request. It was over.

'Well, there's no guarantee, Potter,' said Minerva McGonagall lightly. Her voice sliced through the low hum of dissenting voices. 'But if what you say is true, we owe it to him to try.'

* * *

Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, Professor Slughorn and Professor Flitwick joined Hermione and Harry as they hurried towards the Shrieking Shack. Hermione felt goosebumps rise along her skin as they approached the thrashing branches of the Whomping Willow. It was not a cold morning, but as she stumbled over a lumpy patch of grass, the chilling sensation of déjà-vu sent a shiver down her spine.

Four years had passed since she and Harry had been engaged in another rescue mission to save both Sirius and Buckbeak from execution. But the hippogriff and the alleged criminal were were not the only ones in need of saving that night. Remus Lupin's transformation had been unlike anything she had ever seen. Had it not been for the imminent arrival of Professor Snape, both she and Harry had would not have survived the night.

Tonight, they had not been so fortunate.

Hermione stopped in her tracks as images flashed in her mind. She saw the pale bodies of Remus and Tonks, lying side-by-side on the floor of the Great Hall, along with numerous others. Snape's thrashing body as the serpent sunk its fangs into his skin also appeared in her mind's eye, followed by her third-year recollection of the Potions teacher as he shielded her from the advance of the werewolf.

'Hermione? Are you OK?' asked Harry, placing his hand on the small of her back.

She swallowed several times and nodded briskly. The realisation and the grief had yet to pierce the shock and, when they did, there would be no escape from the pain.

'Come on,' he said, urging her forward. 'Let's go.'

In life, Severus Snape had always looked somewhat vampiric. In death, his sallow skin and sunken cheeks did little to reduce the likeness. His veins bulged through his pale skin and one could easily imagine the venom coursing through his bloodstream.

Hermione's gasp was not the only sound to fill the silence of the Shrieking Shack as the group stepped over the threshold of the room. Professor McGonagall did not conceal the tremble in hand as her fingers hovered over Snape's lips.

'He's not breathing.'

'What can we do?'

'Is it too late for a bezoar?' Hermione asked Slughorn as the other professors examined the fang marks in Snape's neck.

His enormous moustache twitched as he considered her suggestion.

'I – I confess I am not certain how effective a bezoar would be against snake venom, especially at this stage...' murmured Professor Slughorn. 'But it's worth trying.'

'We'll also need to draw the poison out,' murmured Professor Flitwick as he withdrew his wand from his sleeve. 'And quickly.'

The tiny wizard pressed the tip of his wand against Snape's throat and murmured the enchantment. The familiar black robes were torn and stained with blood.

' _Accio_ bezoar! It might not help much...' muttered Slughorn as he knelt beside Severus's head.

To prise his jaws apart, Professor McGonagall cupped Snape's chin with her palm while her other hand pinched the skin above his lip as Professor Slughorn forced the stone into his mouth.

'It'll take more than a single bezoar to flush the venom from his system,' said Madam Pomfrey as she summoned several phials of antidotes from her stores. 'These are all for common poisons, but they might take effect.'

Harry and Hermione stood to the side as the teachers busied themselves with the task of drawing the poison from the wound. Harry's palm felt cold and clammy as he gripped her hand. She gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze as they watched for any signs of life.

' _Vulnera Sanentur_ ,' whispered Professor McGonagall, pointing her wand above the bloodstained collar of Snape's shirt. ' _Vulnera Sanentur_.' The punctures in his neck began to sew together beneath her wand.

'These antidotes aren't strong enough, Poppy,' said Professor Slughorn, as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

'I don't think I have anything stronger,' she replied, reaching for Snape's wrist. Harry looked at her hopefully, but his silent enquiry was met with a shake of her head. 'Still no pulse.'

'Could you brew a stronger antidote, Professor Slughorn?' asked Harry.

Slughorn shook his head miserably.

'My dear boy, it'd take weeks to brew something strong enough and, unfortunately, time is not on our side tonight,' he murmured.

Hermione kept her eyes trained on Snape's pale face as she knelt beside Madam Pomfrey and tentatively touched his pale hand. To her surprise, his skin felt hot beneath her fingers.

'I don't understand,' she gasped. 'He's warm!'

'It's only the venom, I'm afraid,' said Professor Flitwick gently with a sad shake of his head.

'Another bezoar, perhaps?' suggested Professor McGonagall.

There was a general murmur of assent and Madam Pomfrey and Professor Slughorn occupied themselves with the task of magicking the shrivelled stone into Severus's mouth.

Hermione did not move from her spot nor could she take her hand away from his. The back of Snape's hand was webbed with fine creases and the hill of his knuckle felt smooth under her touch.

The stillness of his body unnerved her and Hermione resisted the urge to violently shake him in the hope that he would wake.

An idea suddenly came to mind as she looked at him.

Hesitantly, she fumbled with her wand. She was not certain that it would work, but as the others forced another bezoar between his lips, Hermione pressed the end of her wand against his hand.

' _Reparifors_.'

The tip glowed as she murmured the incantation and when she lifted her wand, Hermione noticed that the spell had left a small red mark under the knoll of his knuckle.

The seconds ticked by and her heart remained as still as his own.

After several minutes, her wand clattered to the floor as she blinked away the rising warmth at the back of her eyes.

'Hermione,' Harry spoke in a cautious tone. 'What did you just do?'

She raised her head to look at him, but Harry's attention was not focused on her. Her friend gasped as his eyes fixed on Snape's face.

'He moved! I saw it! I swear I just saw –'

The teachers huddled round the body as Madam Pomfrey took up his wrist.

'I don't believe it.'

'How on earth –'

'It was Hermione!' cried Harry.

They turned to look at her.

'I – I just used the Reparifo spell, I didn't expect it to actually work,' she spluttered. 'I didn't think it would do anything, especially not in a situation like this, but I read that it can reverse –'

'Paralysis,' McGonagall finished for her. 'I never even thought of that.'

'None of us did,' said Professor Slughorn as he chewed on the end of his moustache.

'He needs to be taken to St. Mungo's,' said Madam Pomfrey urgently. 'We've done all that we can here...and we have achieved far more than I ever thought.' The matron squeezed Hermione's shoulder as she rose to her feet.

'Is he going to be all right?' asked Harry as his lips split into a hopeful grin.

'With a bit of luck, he might be,' said Madam Pomfrey as she conjured a stretcher and magicked Snape's supine form onto it.

Hermione was forcibly reminded of a similar situation in the exact same location four years ago, except it had been Sirius Black holding the wand. If memory served her correctly, Black had been far less delicate in his attentions than Madam Pomfrey.

'I'll take him,' said Harry decisively.

'Perhaps not the best idea, Potter,' said Professor McGonagall. 'The journalists will be out in hordes soon and we need to get him to the Healers as fast as possible without any delays.'

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the stern glare of Professor McGonagall was not without effect.

'Go back to the school,' she said, addressing the staff. 'Madam Sprout and Professor Trelawney will need your assistance in tending to the wounded. I'll take Severus to St Mungo's.'

'I'll go too,' piped Hermione.

Professor McGonagall nodded her assent.

'Come, we must hurry.'

As they moved through the narrow passageways of the Shrieking Shack, Hermione reached for Snape's hand. Despite Flitwick's words, she took comfort in the warmth of his skin and her heart leapt with hope. Once they were outside, she braced herself for the uncomfortable feeling of Apparition and as she squeezed Severus's hand, she felt the tiniest movement in his fingers.


	2. Chapter One

The hair tie was no match for her unruly curls that morning. Stress had exacerbated her hair condition and Hermione had little time to tame her mane into submission. Her fingers snagged in the kinks as she wound the rogue strands into a vague semblance of a bun. She grumbled as she glanced at the clock and hurriedly slipped her feet into her shoes before hurtling downstairs.

'Morning, dear.' Mrs Granger chirped as her daughter bustled into the living room. She shot her mother a terse smile in greeting as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

Allowing her mum to wedge a slice of toast between her lips, Hermione stepped towards the fireplace onto the hearth. The Ministry of Magic had agreed to bend the rules to connect the Grangers' home to the Floo Network despite the Muggle neighbourhood.

'Running late?'

Hermione nodded through a mouthful of toast.

'I really need to dash,' she groaned as she fumbled with her bag and tripped over the grate.

'Careful, dear! Take another piece of toast before you go.'

Hermione chewed hastily and swallowed as her mother held out the terracotta pot of Floo powder.

'Thanks, Mum,' said Hermione before throwing a handful of green powder into the flames. 'See you tonight.'

* * *

As she hurried through the Atrium, Hermione caught sight of her reflection in one of the glossy, black panels that framed the enchanted lift. To her horror, she spotted that several gravity-defying strands of hair had escaped from her bun and, to make matters worse, the lapels of her robes were peppered with crumbs and a black soot smeared the bridge of her nose.

But before she could smarten her appearance, the elevator doors opened and Hermione came face-to-face with Ronald Weasley and his new flame entwined in a passionate, and somewhat slobbery, embrace.

Ron's eyes flickered open as the lift pinged loudly. He pulled away from his companion as Hermione stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the Magical Law Enforcement floor. Raising his sleeve to his mouth, he scrubbed his lips while Hermione focused her attention on the enchanted elevator keypad.

'Nice day, outside,' he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

Hermione gave him a sidelong glance and noticed the redness of his ears – a sure sign of his discomfort. The girl by his side adjusted her robes, keeping her eyes trained on the tips of her shoes. Like Ron, she was wearing the distinctive attire of an Auror and when the lift shuddered to a halt on Level Two, they both darted through the doors and along the corridor.

In the eleven years that had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, both Ron and Harry had rapidly ascended the ranks within the Auror Department and before long the duo had completely revolutionised the workings within the office. Hermione had joined her friends at the Ministry, upon the completion of her N.E.W.T. exams, working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where her attention to detail and diligent work ethic were greatly appreciated.

Her efforts to further the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare had been to no avail and the charity had failed to captivate the masses. During the aftermath of the war, journalists did not want to hear about her determination to reverse the poor working conditions and maltreatment of house-elves. Her friendship with Harry Potter, however, as well as her relationship with her school-mate and fellow war hero, Ron Weasley, received far more attention from the press.

An unfurled copy of _The Daily Prophet_ lay on her desk when she entered her office. Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed the paper into the overflowing bin without so much as glancing at the headlines. ' _GALLED GRANGER GETS HER JUST DESERTS_ ' was stamped across the scrunched copy of yesterday's paper, which lay at the top of the pile.

Hermione lowered herself into the black leather chair, cracked with age and use, before reaching for the sheets of parchment stacked on her desk. She grumbled as her eyes scoured the first document.

'Seen the latest headline?'

Hermione lifted her head from the scroll as Harry strolled into her office.

'It's over there,' replied Hermione as she jerked her head towards the bin. 'Anything of interest?'

'Just Rita Skeeter's usual claptrap.'

'I wasn't too impressed with yesterday's title,' she said breezily as she withdrew her quill from her bag. 'Alliterative, true, but somewhat lacking. I think she's losing her touch.'

'Well, she'll run out of steam eventually.' Harry gazed out of the enchanted window. 'There are only so many adjectives that begin with the letter "G".'

For the past six months, the collapse of her relationship with Ron had been splattered across the pages of _The Prophet_. Rita Skeeter had not softened during her hiatus and her return to the editorial team was marked by her depiction of Ronald Weasley as an innocent victim to Hermione Granger's explosive and abusive temper.

'I don't know why people still read that drivel,' murmured Hermione as she dipped her quill in the ink well.

In recent weeks, Hermione had become an avid fan of _The Quibbler_ – the only newspaper that did not deign to comment on her private life or her relationship with Ron.

The truth of their break-up being that, despite their long-standing friendship, their differences were endless. Out with the walls of Hogwarts, their incompatibility came to light and the cracks in their relationship began to show.

'People want to know what's happening in the world,' he said with a shrug, 'which, unfortunately, necessitates the reading of _The Prophet_.'

'You'd get more facts from _Witch Weekly_ ,' muttered Hermione.

Her attempts to file a complaint about the savage intrusion into her private life had sparked relentless retribution from Rita Skeeter, which meant a daily stream of vitriol intended to publicly shame and discredit her. Her attempts to follow through with her former threat were dismissed as she could find no conclusive evidence that Rita Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus.

'How's Ginny?'

'Tired,' replied Harry as he wearily wiped his forehead with the cuff of his robes. The pink scar on his brow had faded, but the faint lightning bolt did not fail to draw the attention of everyone who met him. 'The baby's up all night kicking.'

'When do you go on paternity leave?' asked Hermione.

'I don't know if I'll be able to,' he groaned. 'Work's mental, right now. Ron and I are totally swamped and yet he's too busy mooning over –' He trailed off as he glanced nervously at her.

Hermione blanched as he spoke and cleared her throat.

'Sorry, I shouldn't have –'

'Don't worry about it,' said Hermione, flashing him a brisk smile that seemed like more of a grimace than a grin.

'Anyway, speaking of work, I'd better get back,' griped Harry, checking the watch on his wrist, which had once belonged to Fabian Prewett. 'See you later.'

Hermione sighed as she returned her attention to the parchment in her hands.

Initially, working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had seemed like an exciting and challenging prospect. Harry's stories within his field had inspired her and Hermione longed to be given the responsibility of projects that would shape the future of the magical community. Many of the old wizarding laws were biased in favour of pure-bloods and in desperate need of reform.

But the regurgitating toilet report that lay on top of her work pile did not quite comply with the dream she had once clung to.

She magicked the document into the appropriate folder, but not before noticing the curve of her knee, peeping through a tear in her tights. Hermione chuntered as she pointed her wand at the ladder and knitted the threads together. Of all the times to bump into Ron and his new girlfriend, Hermione had hoped it would not have been the day she was dressed in holey tights and wearing toast crumbs on her coat.

The day ended in the same miserable note as it had begun and it was with great haste that Hermione left her office to return to the comfort of her home.

'Tea, pet?' asked Mrs Granger from the kitchen as Hermione stepped out of the fireplace. 'Mind you don't get ash all over the carpet.'

'Yes, Mum,' she replied as she carefully padded across the living room. Hermione winced with relief as she sank onto the sofa and unrolled her copy of _The Quibbler_.

Ron had got the flat and she had decided to move back in with her parents. Despite everything that had happened, her childhood home had hardly changed.

Hermione lowered the paper as she glanced at the framed photos along mantelpiece, which had been returned to their original place upon their return from Australia.

Ron had been an endless comfort during the trip, appeasing her fears that she would not be able to restore their memories. Reversing the spell had worked, but the happily-ever-after that Hermione had envisaged following their reunion and the end of the war had not been as easy. Harry and Ginny had married four years after the battle, but while they were making their way to the altar, Hermione and Ron's relationship had started to fray.

'I still can't get my head around it,' said her mother, shaking her head as she entered the lounge with a laden tea-tray.

Hermione looked at her enquiringly as she reached for her tea.

'The moving pictures,' she said, nodding to the latest edition of _The Quibbler_ , which rested on her daughter's lap.

'Trust me, moving pictures aren't the strangest thing you would find in that paper.' Hermione blew gently on her tea. Xenophilius Lovegood's publications had not lost any of their eccentricity in the years following the war. If anything, they had grown distinctly more bizarre.

'Eat up, eat up,' urged her mother, pushing the plate of biscuits towards her. 'Dinner will be ready soon, but we'd better wait for your dad.'

'Double chocolate digestives,' said Hermione as she examined the assortment of sweet treats. 'You're a dentist, shouldn't you be discouraging sugary biscuits?'

'Well, I'd rather you didn't fade away to a shadow.'

'No danger there,' muttered Hermione as she wriggled uncomfortably on the sofa. In truth, her robes had begun to cling rather too snugly to her body in recent weeks.

'How was work?' asked Mrs Granger.

'Usual.' Hermione burnt her tongue on her tea as she took a sip. 'I bumped into Ron.'

'Did you speak to him?'

Shaking her head, Hermione reached for a biscuit.

'Nope, not spoken to him since I moved out,' she murmured as she dunked the digestive into her tea. 'He's going out with someone else.'

'How do you know?'

'Saw them,' she said through a mouthful of chocolate.

'Oh.' Mrs Granger glanced down at her hands clasped in her lap.

'I'm OK, Mum. Just tired,' said Hermione, sensing her mother's concern. 'Work's getting to me.'

'Perhaps...Maybe it's time you look for something else,' her mother said tentatively. 'You do work an awful lot and you don't seem to enjoy it.'

'It's just not what I had initially expected,' mumbled Hermione as she drank from her mug. 'I had hoped that I'd be doing something a bit more... _important_ , I suppose. But working with Ron and the risk of bumping into him, especially now that he's –'

The hot tea washed through the rising lump in her throat.

'I need to get out of the Ministry,' said Hermione, brushing her eyes with the back of her hand.

'Maybe you could do something here? In _our_ world, I mean,' Mrs Granger suggested.

'I think any Muggle employer would take one look at my qualifications and laugh,' she said with a chuckle. 'I don't think they'd favour my N.E.W.T. in Arithmancy over an A-level in Business Studies.'

* * *

The next morning, Hermione spent an extra fifteen minutes getting ready to avoid looking like she'd been attacked by the Whomping Willow.

At twenty-nine years old, she had changed very little since the war. The bags under her eyes had darkened and the lines on her forehead had deepened, but her bushy hair and freckled complexion remained exactly the same.

As she pulled on her robes, ignoring the tightness of the sleeves, Hermione spotted a familiar face peeping out of last week's copy of _The Quibbler_ , which lay splayed open on the floor.

Professor McGonagall looked older than ever as she shook her head, frowning in dismay.

' _HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY CALLS FOR ADDITIONAL SUPPORT AS CLASSROOM NUMBERS CONTINUE TO CLIMB_

 _Twelve years after the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, teaching institutions are now faced with the result of the post-war baby boom. The global rise in population has put a massive strain on the UK's education system._

 _Hogwarts Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, issued a statement:_

 _"Our staff are inundated with work due to the increase in class numbers. As well as marking, lesson-planning and corridor patrol duties, several teachers also have the responsibility of dealing with House matters. Our fellow European counterparts have reached maximum capacity, leaving Hogwarts to accept delegates from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute. The number of UK entrants has increased tenfold in the past few years and our teachers are in desperate need of additional support to assist in lesson-planning and marking."_ '

Hermione felt her heart thud in her chest as she sank onto her bed. The clock on her night stand ticked noisily, but she paid no heed to the Muggle contraption or the fact that nine o'clock was fast approaching as she stared at the newspaper.

'Hermione?' Her mother called. 'You're going to be late, dear.'

Her hand shook as she reached for her quill and parchment and scrawled a hasty letter to her former Head of House.

'What can I get for you, Miss – Oh my goodness!' Madam Rosmerta blinked as she stared at Hermione, oblivious the overflowing tankard she held under the tap. 'Miss Granger!'

Blushing, Hermione lowered her gaze. It was difficult to interpret the barmaid's astonishment.

'If it hadn't been for seeing you in the papers, I wouldn't have recognised you at all! Last time I saw you, you were just a girl!' The blonde witch's grin shifted to a slightly awkward grimace as she busied herself with cleaning the mess of spilt ale with her wand.

Hermione felt her own strained smile begin to waver. She did not need to employ Legilimency in order to understand the barmaid's thoughts. Through narrowed eyes, Hermione could see her own tired face staring out of the front page of _The Daily Prophet_ , which rested atop the counter, with the words ' _GREEN-EYED GRANGER REACTS TO EX'S NEW GIRLFRIEND, GUINEVERE_ ' emblazoned across the top. Rita Skeeter's latest piece.

To her mortification, Hermione noted that the photo had been taken the same day that she had encountered Ron and his new girlfriend. The straggly bun, the sooty nose and the crumbs were all in plain sight.

'So, what can I get you?'

'Butterbeer, please,' said Hermione briskly, placing the coins on the counter. 'Is Professor McGonagall here yet?'

Madam Rosmerta shook her head as she filled a pint glass.

'Not yet, but she'll be along shortly. Take a seat and I'll tell her when she arrives,' she said cheerily, handing Hermione her drink.

'Thank you...and might I recommend _The Quibbler_? Far less mind-numbing than Rita Skeeter's daily tripe,' she added, shooting a dark glance at her own tired face.

Taking a seat beside the window, Hermione scooted along the bench to watch for McGonagall's arrival.

Aside from her Ministry co-workers, she had not been out in the wizarding community for many months now and, until now, Hermione had not considered the fact that many people would believe Rita's stories whole-heartedly.

Not everyone knew Rita Skeeter for what she was and Hermione had not forgotten the hate mail and the venom she had received in fourth year when she had been portrayed as Harry Potter's cheating girlfriend – another one of Rita's fabrications. But to be detested by the entire wizarding world was not exactly the making of a desirable candidate for employment.

'Miss Granger?'

In the eleven years that had passed, Minerva McGonagall's hair had turned completely white and Hermione observed the slight tremor in the older woman's fingers as she reached across the table to shake her hand. But aside from her white hair beneath the thick brim of her hat, the Headmistress appeared no different.

'It's good to see you again,' she said with a genuine smile as she unbuttoned her travelling cloak. 'You look well.'

The aftermath of the war had clearly taken its toll on the Headmistress, but her brisk manner had not changed and she wasted no time in getting down to the purpose of their meeting.

'I must confess I was quite surprised when I received your letter, Miss Granger. I understand you currently work at the Ministry. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, am I right?'

'Yes, I've been there for about ten years now, but I feel like...' Hermione trailed off as she considered how to phrase her desire to leave. 'I don't think law enforcement is the right career path for me.'

Professor McGonagall nodded.

'The Ministry isn't for everyone,' she said kindly. 'Certainly not for me nor Albus, either. He was always quite vocal about his objection to joining the Ministry.'

Hermione smiled at the faint grimace on the Headmistress's face and took a sip of her Butterbeer.

'So you'd like to return to Hogwarts as one of our faculty?'

'More than anything,' said Hermione. 'I'm sorry I'm so late in applying, I only found the article in _The Quibbler_ a few days ago.'

Professor McGonagall nodded.

'Well, judging by your grades, you could go into just about any area of teaching that you wished. We have received a fair number of applicants, however, and there are only two teaching assistant positions available now.'

'In which subjects?' asked Hermione.

'Potions,' replied the Headmistress. 'And Care of Magical Creatures.'

After the war, Hagrid had continued to teach Care of Magical Creatures and as pleasant as it would be to see more of her friend, Hermione knew that his penchant for dangerous and illegal creatures would make work a living nightmare.

'But, as you did not pursue Care of Magical Creatures after your fifth year,' continued Professor McGonagall, 'I can only assume that Potions is the front-runner?'

'Who currently holds the Potions master position?'

Professor McGonagall glanced at her.

'Professor Snape, of course.'

'What?' Hermione's eyes widened as she stared at the Headmistress. Butterbeer slopped over the table as the tankard slipped from her grip.

She knew that he had survived. Several months after the battle, Harry had burst into the flat to inform them that Snape would make a full recovery. But, in recent years, Hermione had heard little news of the former Potions professor.

'He came back last year,' explained McGonagall. 'There was a brief mention of it in _The Daily Prophet_ , I think...'

'Ah,' said Hermione with a grimace. 'I haven't read _The Prophet_ for quite some time now. Not since Rita Skeeter resumed her career.'

'Yes,' replied Professor McGonagall as she lowered her gaze to her drink. 'I was sorry to hear about you and Mr Weasley.'

Hermione felt a faint flush of embarrassment to be discussing her love life with her former teacher.

'We just weren't particularly well-suited,' said Hermione as she drained the remains of her Butterbeer. 'Not that Rita Skeeter paints it that way.'

'I think many of _The Prophet_ 's readers have learnt to take Rita Skeeter's _facts_ with a pinch of salt,' said Professor McGonagall icily.

Hermione could not help glancing towards the bar as Madam Rosmerta hoisted an empty barrel of mead onto the counter.

'I can't believe he came back,' Hermione pondered aloud, sitting back in her seat.

Only she and Ron were privy to the details of Snape's memories. Harry had told them about what he had seen in the Pensieve, but Hermione had her suspicions that, despite his candour, he had neglected to share _every_ detail. She knew that Snape's allegiance to Voldemort had waned once the Dark Lord had decided to seek out the Potters' son. Snape had been the one to relate the particulars of the prophecy to his master, but he'd had no idea that his information would steer the Dark Lord towards the Potters.

Hermione and Ron had bombarded Harry with questions, but there were many gaps in the story that they had been forced to fill with their own suppositions and conjectures.

She surmised that Snape's sudden change of heart was the product of guilt. She knew that Harry's father and Snape had never been bosom buddies, but, she reasoned, that was not to say that Snape had _wanted_ his former classmate dead.

'Harry sent him countless owls – he was desperate to get in touch with him. He had hoped to see him at the Order of Merlin award ceremony.'

The Headmistress's lips curled into a knowing smile.

'Ah, yes,' she said. 'He was most adamant in his refusal to attend.'

'After everything he's been through...his injuries...I thought he would've opted for early retirement.'

'As did I,' admitted McGonagall. 'He spent several years recuperating. And then, two years ago, I received an owl from him, asking if he could take up his old post as Potions master.'

'Did he say why?'

'He said that if he did not find something to occupy him, he would finish what the snake had started.'

'I take it he hasn't changed much?'

'Not in the slightest.'

Hermione frowned. The thought of shadowing Professor Snape was about as tempting as the idea of helping Hagrid wrestle with Norwegian Ridgebacks.

Anxiety fluttered in her stomach as she recalled her earlier days inside the dungeon. She could remember the herbal scent of the classroom, the low growl of the Potions master's voice and the contemptuous smirk that surfaced on his lips when he criticised her. Even the memories made her stomach roil with nerves.

'We would love to have you on board,' said Professor McGonagall earnestly. 'There's no doubt about it, we need all the help we can get.'

Hermione thought of Ron and the twenty-year-old Auror apprentice and the monotony of her job and quickly dismissed the wave of apprehension that she felt about working alongside Professor Snape.

Over a decade had passed since she had sat inside the Potions classroom, under the watchful eye of the Potions master, she was not the same timid girl she had once been. She thought of the civility with which he interacted with the other teaching staff and Hermione concluded that, as a colleague, he would be far more agreeable.

'So, can we expect to see you at the start of term?'


	3. Chapter Two

'I can't believe you are leaving.'

Hermione felt her stomach drop as she glanced over her shoulder. But, to her dismay, she did not see the familiar mop of red hair standing in the doorway.

'Hi, Harry,' she said, before returning to the task of magicking the contents of her desk drawers into a box.

'This has all happened so quickly,' he said, shaking his head. 'You're not leaving because of...'

Hermione exhaled slowly and turned to face him.

'I just think it's time for a change of pace.'

They stood in silence as Harry lowered his eyes to the teal carpet. His dragon hide boots scuffed against the patterned flooring.

'I've not been a very good friend lately, have I?' he mumbled. 'I should've come to see you more often...to check you were OK.'

'Harry,' she began as she felt a rush of guilt. 'I know you're completely bogged down with work and you have a baby on the way! I don't expect you to be getting involved in things between Ron and me, especially when you've got so much on your plate already.'

'Nonetheless...' murmured Harry.

'Ginny wrote to me a few days ago,' said Hermione brightly. She had been relieved to hear from the red-haired mother-to-be, knowing that her break-up with Ron had not affected their friendship. 'She says she's housebound with morning sickness and that Mrs Weasley insists on ramming as many home remedies down her neck as possible.'

'That's not the half of it,' said Harry, rolling his eyes. 'She's practically moved in! She's burnt the arse out of my cauldron by brewing various anti-sickness concoctions day and night.' He glanced up at her. 'Anyway, Ginny said she's pleased for you. She thinks you'll make a marvellous teacher. Are you looking forward to going back?'

For the first time, Hermione gave him a genuine smile. She didn't think of it as going 'back', she thought of it as going home. Her parents' London house and the flat she had shared with Ron had all been called 'home' at brief points in her life, but none had ever compared to the enchanted castle and the feeling that she got when she passed through its endless halls and corridors.

'I really am.'

'What will you be doing?' he asked.

Hermione shrugged.

'Scrubbing cauldrons by hand, knowing what Snape's like...' she muttered.

' _Snape_?'

'I'm to be the new Potions teaching assistant.'

Harry opened his mouth to speak.

'And before you ask,' snapped Hermione, raising her palm. 'I am _not_ going to spend every waking moment harassing him to reply to your letters. It'll be hard enough working as his assistant without badgering him about answering your owls.'

'I wasn't going to,' Harry replied indignantly. 'I've gathered he's not interested in getting in touch.'

'Why do you want to speak to him so badly?' she asked as her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Her wand hand fell to her side as she looked at him.

'I...' he began sheepishly. 'I just want to thank him, that's all. For everything he did.'

Hermione was not convinced.

'I know you're not telling me something.'

'I've told you everything I know,' he retorted. Hermione noted his reluctance to look at her despite his gruff tone.

'Oh, come off it. You're a terrible liar.'

'I wouldn't keep anything from you and Ron, but Snape is entitled to his privacy and secrets. Besides...' Harry glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder. 'He's been through enough without having his past splattered across the daily newspaper.'

Hermione relented; however, she could not shake off the niggling curiosity that she felt. But she did not pursue the subject and, instead, administered Harry with the laborious task of humphing boxes to the door of her office as she settled behind her desk to complete her paperwork.

'Can't I use magic?' he asked, panting heavily. His glasses slipped from the bridge of his nose, which was slick with sweat.

'Not with your shoddy wandwork, Mr Potter,' she replied teasingly.

'Levitation is first-year magic! You're forgetting that my shoddy wandwork saved you from being bludgeoned by a fully-grown mountain troll!'

'And I'm ever so grateful. But if you break anything in those boxes, you'll need more than one of Mrs Weasley's home remedies to cure you,' she threatened.

'Can't you do it, then?' he asked as his knees buckled under the weight of the box he was carrying.

'I'm busy,' she replied as she finished scribbling on a piece of parchment. 'I need to write a letter to my successor _and_ to the Minister _and_ deal with all the rest of this bureaucratic nonsense.' She gestured to the stack of documents that littered her desk.

'Ron's gutted you're leaving,' said Harry after a long pause. His eyes were fixed on the box at his feet while Hermione concentrated on the paper in her hands.

'Yes, he must be positively devastated,' she muttered.

'He wanted to come by and see you,' insisted Harry. 'But he thought...well...he remembered the bird attack in sixth year.'

'Good.'

'Hermione, he –'

'Look, Harry, I don't bear Ron any ill will,' Hermione confessed, lowering her quill. 'It was never going to work. But the fact he's now seeing someone else and what with _The Daily Prophet_ 's relentless depictions of me as a –'

'Ron's tried everything to get Rita to stop,' he assured her, 'but you know what she's like.'

'It's all just a bit too raw, at the moment.'

* * *

In a matter of days, Hermione had gutted her room in search of her old trunk and school stationery. Her supplies were in great need of replenishment; the ink had dried and her quills were bare and featherless and so she was forced to borrow Hedwig in order to place an order with Flourish and Blotts. Settling her affairs at the Ministry had consumed so much of her time that she had not found a moment to spare for a trip to Diagon Alley.

The combination of anxiety and excitement seemed to heighten with every passing moment and the last few days of August seemed to drag in.

'What time do you need to be at King's Cross?' asked her mother on the morning of the first of September.

'No need,' said Hermione with a reassuring smile. 'I'll Apparate.'

'Are you sure? Your father took the day off work, I think he was rather looking forward to seeing you off,' said Mrs Granger. 'Like old times.'

'Teachers are now encouraged to Apparate because of the rise in students,' said Hermione as she hauled her trunk into the living room. 'They've enlarged the Hogwarts Express as much as possible, but even magic has its limits.'

Hermione recalled the first time she had ever stepped onto Platform 9 ¾. Through the fug of thick grey smoke, billowing across the platform, she had glimpsed the gleaming, red body of the Hogwarts Express. To her eleven-year-old self, it had seemed gigantic and, even twenty years later, Hermione struggled to imagine an even larger version of the train.

'You OK, dear?' asked Mr Granger as he entered the living room.

'You really didn't have to take the day off work,' said Hermione as her father wrapped his arms around her. She rubbed her face against the rough fibres of his worn jumper. 'It's not as if it's my first day of school.'

'Well, it'll be your first time on the other side of the desk,' said her father. 'And I'll bet that's a whole lot harder.'

'That's true,' she replied, biting her lip. Despite everything she had faced, Hermione could not expel the nervousness that she felt.

'But you'll do brilliantly,' said her father. 'As always.'

Her mother stepped towards them and placed her hands on Hermione's shoulders.

'I'd better get going,' said Hermione, reaching for her trunk.

She withdrew her wand from her pocket and prepared herself for the sickening, squeezing sensation of Apparition.

* * *

The ground felt gravelly and uneven beneath her feet and when she looked around, Hermione noticed that she was standing in the village of Hogsmeade. In the distance, she could discern the hoops of the Hogwarts Quidditch field.

'Hermione?'

She spun on the spot to see Neville Longbottom standing several feet from her.

'Neville! What are you doing here?'

Hermione laughed as he dropped his suitcase and hurried forward to embrace her.

'It's nice to see a familiar face,' he admitted with a grin. 'I was a bit worried when I took the job...Thought it'd be like first year all over again. Except worse without Trevor.'

'Herbology, I take it?' asked Hermione as she stooped to pick up her trunk.

Neville nodded, swinging his case as he walked.

'And you? What subject did you get?'

'Potions.'

Neville's suitcase slipped from his hand and tumbled onto the ground, spilling its contents along the path.

'With Snape?'

Hermione nodded.

'You're brave,' said Neville reverently as he hastily stuffed his quills and parchment into the case. 'I'd rather have another round with the snake than work as Snape's assistant.'

'Thanks, Neville,' said Hermione dryly.

She thoroughly enjoyed the stroll towards the castle as Neville regaled her with tales of his grandmother and his life since the battle. But the absence of Harry and Ron grieved her.

They passed by Hagrid's hut, which had been fully repaired and a thin wisp of smoke billowed from the crooked chimney. Hermione realised that she would greatly miss the afternoons that the trio had spent inside his hut – despite Hagrid's infamous home baking and aptly-named rock cakes.

The lake glittered in the light of the sun and Hermione watched as a familiar form scampered across the grassy bank. Witherwings the hippogriff lowered his head to lap at the edge of the lake and warily eyed the huge tentacle emerging from the surface of the water.

'And I saw Seamus the other day,' continued Neville as they approached the castle. 'He's doing well.'

'How's his mum?'

Neville pulled a face. Seamus's outspoken mother had a fierce belief in everything that _The Daily Prophet_ printed, which had done little to curry favour with Seamus's classmates, particularly during their fifth year.

'I've hardly seen anyone since Ron and I split up,' Hermione replied guiltily as she trudged up the stone steps that led towards the castle's huge, oak doors. ' _The Prophet_ hasn't helped matters.'

'Just ignore what Rita Skeeter writes,' said Neville. 'You should hear what my gran has to say about her. She calls her an evil, little –'

The hunched form of Argus Filch seemed even smaller as he stood in the enormous doorway of the Entrance Hall. As they drew nearer, Hermione saw that he had not changed out of his old, patched robes and the surly expression remained exactly the same, but the bald patch on the crown of his head had grown larger in recent years.

'Leave your trunks by the stairs and go on up to the Great Hall,' he grumbled. His whiskered jowls quivered as he spoke.

Glancing at Neville, Hermione smiled as she saw the grown man beside her transform into an eleven-year-old boy again. Along with Snape, Mr Filch had never been one of his favourites.

Hermione spied the scabby tail of Mrs Norris as the cat pawed the caretaker's legs. The old man stooped to scratch at its scrawny body as Hermione and Neville ascended the stone steps.

The Great Hall seemed bigger without the students and Hermione guessed that the four House tables had been enlarged to accommodate the new arrivals. The Hogwarts Express was due in an hour, but it would take Hagrid slightly longer to organise the horde of first-years and ferry them across the water.

The enchanted, starry ceiling glittered above their heads in the glow of the floating candles. After so long in the brightly-lit headquarters of the Ministry, which seemed more akin to Muggle offices than the central hub of the magical community, Hermione revelled in her surroundings.

'Neville! Over here,' called Professor Sprout from the far end of the staff table, waving towards them. Neville smiled and gave Hermione an awkward nod before heading towards the Herbology teacher.

The High Table had been magically extended to make room for the additional members of staff. Hermione spotted the pointed hat of Professor Sinistra and the corkscrew curls of Professor Trelawney, but her heart stopped when she glimpsed the familiar black hair that seemed to blend into his cloak.

The floorboards of the raised platform creaked as she took a tentative step towards Professor Snape.

'Good evening, sir,' she said, forcing the cheeriness into her voice. 'It's a pleasure to see you again.'

'Well, you haven't changed one bit,' he muttered irritably without looking at her. He drank from his goblet as his eyes fixed on the huge oak door of the Great Hall.

'Likewise,' said Hermione as she lowered herself into the chair on his left. 'But a little sweetness of temper would have been an improvement,' she mumbled under her breath.

His head snapped round to face her and Hermione looked into the face of the man she had not seen for eleven years. Despite the time that had passed and his close brush with death, Severus Snape had changed very little. His dark hair was threaded with strands of grey and the creases around his eyes had deepened, but the wrinkles undoubtedly had more to do with his deep scowl, which was pointed in her direction, than his age.

'After all, I am here to help you,' she finished. She could not tear her eyes away from him. The last time she had seen the Potions master, his unconscious body had been swarmed by a group of Healers who had attempted – and, evidently, succeeded – to revive him.

'I fail to see how a Ministry _gnat_ could be of any service to me.'

She lowered her eyes to the gleaming cutlery in front of her. She did not know what she had been expecting, but the swift return of his cold and callous demeanour unsettled her.

'To help you with your marking and your lesson plans and –'

'What experience do you have in potion-making, Miss Granger?'

Hermione did not miss the implied student-teacher dynamic that he forced into the conversation by use of her surname.

'Hermione, please,' she said politely. 'And I'll call you –'

'Professor Snape,' he cut through her. 'I think that's only appropriate given your... _position_. Now, Miss Granger, regale me with your accomplishments as a potioneer.'

'Well, I have seven years of magical education in Potions. An 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L. as well as an 'Exceeds Expectations' in my N.E.W.T.'

'I am aware. What else?'

'Pardon?'

'Obligatory school-level qualifications,' he replied with a sigh, 'which – I might add – you obtained over a decade ago, do not entitle you to the position of Potions teacher...or _assistant_.'

Hermione blushed as she glanced at her empty plate.

'You have never worked in an apothecary nor brewed a potion since leaving this school, nor have you published any journals or literature on the subject. Do tell me what makes you think you are suitable for the post or does your arrogance know no bounds?'

'I've worked at the Ministry for over ten years, which might not be relevant to this position, but it shows that I am dedicated and hard-working. I – I might not know everything about Potions, but I am willing to learn everything that I need to know and I doubt any of my former teachers or colleagues would deny that I am intelligent.'

'From what I remember, despite your... _invaluable_ ability to retain large chunks of prose in your head, you lack natural talent in the subject. What is more, your skills as a potioneer do not extend beyond mediocrity.'

'Well, my grades show –'

'Nothing,' he sneered. 'Ten years have passed since you were at school. Your grades count for _nothing_.'

Hermione felt an unsettling mix of fury and shame rise in her throat as he continued to deride her. The humiliation stung more than anything.

'The Ministry may have valued your memory skills or perhaps it was your popularity with the press that swayed your employers. Regardless, neither of which will get you very far in this line of work.'

'You're quite mistaken if you think I used anything other than my qualifications and skills to advance my position,' she replied as her cheeks glowed with mortification.

'Really?' His raised eyebrow complemented the dryness of his tone. 'That seems unlikely. After all this time, your personal affairs continue to create quite a stir. You seem to be _The Daily Prophet_ 's most precious commodity.'

'If you had read any of the articles, you would know that I'm not portrayed in a particularly flattering light.'

'And I thought that there was no such thing as bad publicity,' he said with a wry smile. 'I believe that was one of Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite expressions. You ought to watch that you do not go the same way as he did. After all, without your memory, what would you be?' He smirked as he drank from his goblet.

Hermione's knuckles blanched as she gripped the edge of the table.

'You'll find no limelight here, Miss Granger,' he drawled. 'It's a low-profile job. I doubt whether your ego could handle it. I advise you to return to the Ministry with your bureaucratic procedures and reports, where you belong.'

'I'm done with the Ministry, Professor,' said Hermione airily. 'Besides, I've come to help.'

'As I have already told you, I do not need an assistant.'

At that moment, the students filed into the Great Hall. As the chattering hordes of pupils bounced into the room and took their places at their tables, Hermione understood Professor McGonagall's concerns. She gave Professor Snape a sidelong glance and watched as he pursed his pale lips and silently counted the onslaught of bodies scuttling to their seats.

'On the contrary, Professor, I really think you do.'

The Hall was jam-packed with students and once the Sorting had taken place, there seemed to be little room for anything else. As the last student scampered towards the Hufflepuff table, Professor McGonagall vanished the rickety stool and the worn Sorting Hat with a flick of her wand.

'To all new students, first-years and the delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, welcome to Hogwarts. To our older students, welcome back! You'll notice many new additions to staffing this year,' announced the Headmistress.

As she glanced along the High Table, Hermione realised that, aside from Neville, she did not recognise any of the other teaching assistants. Hagrid caught her eye and gave her a friendly wave, upending a jug of wine in the process. For a moment, she contemplated shifting to the empty seat beside Hagrid to ask about the Care of Magical Creatures assistant vacancy.

'...if you'd like to stand,' finished Professor McGonagall.

Hermione felt her legs tremble as she rose to her feet. Eyes drifted between her and Neville and she flushed furiously. To her horror, she caught sight of several whispered exchanges between students and she realised that many among them would be avid readers of _The Daily Prophet_.

Nevertheless, she received the loudest applause when the Headmistress introduced her and Hermione felt the corners of her lips lift slightly. Professor Snape, on the other hand, made no sign of acknowledgement and when the crowd clapped for Hermione, he merely folded his hands together.

They ate in silence and as she looked around at the chattering students and the animated conversations between the staff, Hermione could not help but feel slightly dejected. Her dining companion paid her little heed and answered her questions with a pointed silence. Every so often, she peeped at him and watched as he ate and drank all the while keeping his eyes trained on the wall ahead.

Throughout the meal, Hermione reminisced about her days as a student, wishing she could sit at the Gryffindor table with Harry and Ron again. But it was a painful train of thought, which she hastily pushed to the side as she concentrated on finishing her dessert.

Her eyes flickered to her right as Snape reached for the jug of pouring cream and, as his hand curled around the handle, Hermione spotted a familiar pink spot below his knuckle.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she wondered if he knew where the mark had come from and if he knew that _she_ was the one responsible. She whipped her head to the side so that he would not catch her staring. His usual manner and cold greeting suggested that he was not aware of the source of the mark.

But her blood ran cold as she considered the alternative possibility that he knew _exactly_ what had happened in the Shrieking Shack. The pre-war Snape that she knew would have been furious to learn that he was indebted to a member of the Golden Trio and it seemed that the war had had little effect on Snape's temperament.

Perhaps he thought that the secret that Harry guarded had been distributed amongst his former students, which would explain his frosty treatment of her, Hermione mused, as well as his refusal to respond to Harry's letters. She felt her brain begin to pulsate in her skull as she mulled over the various possibilities and, for the second time that night, she wished she was sitting beside Hagrid. Even Divination with Professor Trelawney was beginning to seem preferable.

When the Sorting Feast had finished, Hermione felt a wistful pang as she watched the students head towards Gryffindor Tower in the wake of the House prefects. Instead, she was destined to follow Professor Snape to the dungeons with a rising sense of regret the further they descended.

'Your rooms are in here,' he muttered as they stopped outside one of the doors leading off from the corridor. 'If you need anything –'

Hermione raised her head to look at him and wondered if she was about to receive the first shred of kindness from him since she had arrived.


	4. Chapter Three

Despite the lingering warmth of September, the dungeons were cold and draughty and the ornate furnishings of the Gryffindor common room seemed like a distant memory.

Inside her chambers, the living room, kitchen and bedroom were crammed into a single space with a door leading to a separate room, where Hermione found a grimy bathtub and toilet that no amount of magic could properly clean.

The leaky tap and the whistling gale as well as the bitter pangs of nostalgia rendered sleep impossible. Tossing and turning, Hermione spent the night huddled under a thin duvet, shivering as the springs of the worn mattress prodded her spine. She longed for the plush four-poster she had slept in as a student and the thick burgundy curtains of the dormitory, which blocked any breeze that filtered through the gaps in the window frame.

Hermione cast her mind back to the months of endless camping during their hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes. Even the old tent that had once belonged to Mr Weasley's coworker had offered cosier accommodation than her new chambers.

She thought that if Snape's private quarters even remotely resembled her own, his foul temper seemed extremely justified.

* * *

'Hermione!'

'Morning, Neville.' Hermione managed a wan smile as she trudged up the steep staircase to greet her friend.

'Are you OK?' His cheery expression shifted to concern as his gaze lingered on the dark circles under her eyes.

'I didn't sleep too well,' she replied with a slight shiver. The warming spell she had cast had worn off several times throughout the night. 'The rooms in the dungeon are baltic!'

'I can imagine. I always hated having to go down there for Potions,' he said with a shudder.

'Did you sleep OK?'

'Yeah, I'm on the ground floor near the greenhouses,' he chirped as they entered the Great Hall. 'It's warm and dry so I can't complain.'

They separated as they reached the High Table and Neville exchanged warm pleasantries with Professor Sprout before taking a seat by her side.

Hermione, on the other hand, did not receive so much as a 'hello' as she sat to the left of Professor Snape.

Granules of sugar glittered as she sifted several spoonfuls onto her hot cereal warmed her stomach and Hermione moaned with relief as her body ceased to chitter.

'Do you want to go over the lesson plans for today?' Hermione asked tentatively, turning in her chair to face him. His long hair hung dangled in front of his face, obscuring his expression.

'Not particularly.' His pale fingers hooked around the stem of his glass.

'Well, I'd like to have _some_ idea of what we'll be doing this morning.'

'I beg your pardon? _We_ won't be doing anything,' he replied tartly.

'Then what am I meant to do?'

He gave her a withering look over the rim of his cup.

'You can sit at the back and observe.' Snape placed the heavy goblet on the table with a loud thunk. 'I have a double class with the first-year Slytherins and Gryffindors in the morning. During the latter half of the lesson, I will permit you to do the rounds and offer assistance if I am otherwise occupied. Afterwards, you can organise the store cupboards during the sixth-year double period.'

'Well, to be honest, the N.E.W.T. work is a bit fresher in my mind. I might be of _some_ use!' supplied Hermione helpfully.

She faltered as she glanced at his frosty expression.

'I think not, Miss Granger.'

Hermione tried to conceal the disappointment on her face as she glanced along the High Table.

Neville and Professor Sprout were absorbed in their lesson plans, poring over countless sheafs of parchment and loudly discussing the progress of the Mandrake plants. The other learning assistants were similarly engaged, deep in discussion with their partnering teachers.

Hermione glanced morosely at her own mentor as he drained his goblet and dabbed his lips with his napkin, keeping his gaze averted from her own. He then rose abruptly from the table, leaving Hermione to finish her porridge in silence.

* * *

The classroom was filled to maximum capacity and Professor Snape had been forced to summon additional desks and equipment for the multitude of first-years. Hermione sat agape at the sheer number of students, which accounted for only half of the year group.

His introductory speech was identical to the one he had given during her first ever Potions lesson. As before, the eager attentiveness of the students quickly evaporated. Few teachers possessed the power to silence a room with a mere sentence, but Snape was certainly one of them. The first-years swallowed nervously, afraid to make eye contact with the formidable Potions master, as he growled instructions.

Hermione noted that his Slytherin favouritism had not lessened over the years as he directed most of his acerbic remarks towards the maroon-clad group at the back of the classroom.

'Well, what are you waiting for?' he shouted brusquely. Hermione's head snapped round to face him, forgetting that she was no longer under his charge as his pupil. His arms were folded underneath his heavy cloak and his pale lips thinned as he loured at the mass of students. 'Begin! You have one hour.'

The first-years rose from their stools, sharing the same startled looks of bewilderment and fear. One boy, who strongly resembled eleven-year-old Neville, could not control the shaking of his legs.

Peering over the shoulder of one of the Gryffindors, Hermione's eyes scanned the page detailing the brewing directions for the healing potion that Professor Snape had allocated.

 _Salamander blood_

 _Two drops of Flobberworm mucus_

 _One stewed Mandrake_

 _Ten Lionfish spines_

 _Drops of Honeywater_

 _Unicorn horn_

 _Moondew drops..._

Her brow furrowed as she cast her mind back to her first ever Potions lesson, but she could not recall having brewed that particular potion. If memory served, she was certain that Wiggenweld potion was part of the second-year syllabus.

Hermione glanced enquiringly at the Potions master as he lingered by the Slytherin table.

'Erm, Miss? Could – could you help me?' Neville's doppelgänger looked at her pleadingly. 'I – I can't light a fire under my cauldron,' he stuttered as his wand hand drooped to his side. 'The spell won't work.'

'What's your name?' she asked.

'I'm Harry,' he replied timidly.

Hermione suppressed a smile. She hoped that not many wizarding families had taken to naming their sons after the Chosen One or life would become very confusing, indeed.

'No need to look so crestfallen,' she said reassuringly, 'it's easy once you know what you're doing. Repeat after me, no wands... _Incendio_.'

Harry did as he was bid and once she was satisfied with his enunciation, Hermione urged him to try again using his wand.

The boy's hand trembled as he pointed his wand at the cauldron, but as he uttered the incantation, a jet of flames erupted from the tip.

'It worked!' he cried in surprise. His lips split into a wide beam.

Hermione felt a surge of satisfaction and pride as Harry rejoiced in his achievement. His gratitude was greater than that which Snape had shown her so far. The man in question was busy barking criticism and scathing insults as he prowled between the desks occupied by the Gryffindor first-years.

Looking around the room, Hermione spotted that the students seemed to be working in pairs, which Snape normally forbade, but given the cramped working conditions and the size of the class, it was easy for the pupils to work together unnoticed.

She overheard a smattering of whispered German and French among the students, which she assumed could only be the delegates from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.

'What is this?' Snape demanded. His glare was directed at a thin, freckled girl whose nervous gaze flickered between the Potions master and her cauldron.

'W – Wiggenweld potion, sir.'

'No, this is black gunk,' he scorned. 'Where's the rest of your salamander blood?'

'I used it all, sir.' The girl's face turned white and her eyes sparkled with tears.

Hermione felt a pang of empathy for the young girl as Snape bellowed at her. The surrounding students ducked their heads as he shouted for fear of catching his eye.

'Ten points from Gryffindor,' he muttered. 'For sheer stupidity.'

The young Gryffindor brushed her cheeks with the cuff of her sleeve as Snape stormed across the classroom towards another group of petrified students.

Harry also seemed shaken by the Potions master's foul temper and his voice trembled as he asked, 'And now d – do I add the salamander blood?'

The contents of his cauldron began to bubble and Hermione gave him an encouraging nod.

'That's enough for now,' she interjected as Harry poured the contents of the phial into the cauldron. 'Now, give it a stir.'

Slowly, the potion began to turn red, brightening in colour with every movement.

'Now for a counter-clockwise stir.'

'And then add more blood?' he asked, glancing round at her.

Hermione inclined her head.

She opened her mouth to elaborate, but before she could speak, thin fingers clamped around her bicep and forcibly dragged her into a corner of the room.

'What do you think you are doing?' His tone was light and menacing.

'Helping,' she replied simply.

She could sense the simmering anger emanate from the Potions master as he scowled at her.

'From where I was standing, it looked like you were telling that boy exactly what to do. That is the opposite of helpful and the opposite of teaching –'

'Whereas your method of bullying and intimidation seems far more successful,' she snapped.

'How do you suppose they learn if they have someone doing all the work for them?'

'Well, it doesn't help that you're assigning second-year work! This is far too advanced,' she insisted. 'Half of them will have never even _seen_ a potion before, never mind attempting to brew one.'

'Thirty points from Gryffindor,' he announced.

'Why do you persist with this vendetta against Gryffindor? Are you deliberately trying to turn the students against me?'

'Teaching is not a popularity contest, as you'll soon learn.'

'You can't deduct House points for my supposed error.'

'I think you'll find that I _can_ , Miss Granger,' he said coldly.

True enough, as they left the dungeons at lunchtime, Hermione glanced upwards to see that Gryffindor's hourglass was almost bare except for a mere handful of rubies.

'Did you really have to punish the whole House?' she asked despairingly as she counted the red jewels.

'Until you learn, Miss Granger,' Snape sneered before marching ahead towards the Great Hall, leaving Hermione to gaze forlornly at the empty hourglass.

She avoided the High Table at lunchtime and chose to spend the hour wandering the grounds.

Years ago, Harry and Ron would have been by her side to comfort her and remind her that Snape was nothing but a bitter, snide and resentful old man. She thought of all the times that she had defended the Potions master during the endless slagging he had received. Hermione could not understand why she had exhausted so much energy and time, when he truly did not merit it. His efforts as a double-agent and a spy had earned her eternal respect and gratitude, but it was difficult to _like_ someone who seemed to actively enjoy being so disagreeable.

As she strolled along, she spied several of the trio's old haunts by the lake, under the shadowed cloisters and beside the staircase leading to the Owlery. Not for the first time since her arrival, Hermione wondered if coming back had been a wise decision. Her return had opened old wounds and reminded her of all that she had lost and all that had once been.

The castle had not changed at all despite the extensive damage that it had been subjected to during the battle. Its magically restored foundations and structures looked no different from before. But if she closed her eyes, Hermione could visualise the carnage and warfare that had taken place over ten years ago on those very grounds.

As she crossed the courtyard, she saw Lavender Brown's ashen face as Fenrir Greyback launched forward and sank his yellow teeth into her throat. Her own scream echoed in her mind as she hurled a spell at the werewolf's back.

Antonin Dolohov staggered backwards onto the paved ground as Firenze reared and bucked his hooves. The Death Eater retaliated with a curse that slashed the centaur's left flank as Professor Flitwick scurried forward to resume the duel.

Ginny's red hair flashed as she ran across the quadrangle towards the thick of the fray with Aberforth Dumbledore by her side. His deep, booming voice echoed into the night as he stunned Augustus Rookwood.

The grief of their losses had abated with time and the comfort and companionship that she had received from Ron had eased her own sorrow. But amid the familiar surroundings of Hogwarts, Hermione felt his absence more than ever and the painful war memories were beginning to surface.

Hermione swallowed thickly as she paced across the stone walkway. The scar on her neck felt tight and itchy whenever she remembered the events of the war. It had faded over the years, but the wound where Bellatrix had held the knife to her throat had not vanished entirely. The cut was made by the same weapon that had killed Dobby, moments after he had rescued them from Malfoy Manor.

The clock chimed above, stirring her from her train of thought. Hermione shivered as she wound her scarf tightly around her neck, concealing the pink laceration from sight, and returned to the castle.

* * *

'Late,' snarled Professor Snape as Hermione hurried through the door of the classroom. 'Get to work. You have two hours to organise that cupboard,' he ordered, pointing his finger at the storage unit where the ingredients and potion-making apparatus were kept.

The N.E.W.T. students filed into the room and waited for their teacher to administer instructions as Hermione planted a stool beside the store cupboard and began arranging the various jars.

'Had it not been for the Headmistress's input, only "Outstanding" students would be here in this class. Even at that, I am uncertain if any of you possess the predisposition or the skill to succeed at this level. N.E.W.T. Potions goes beyond the ability to read and follow instructions, which any dunderhead is capable of doing –'

Hermione rolled her eyes as she listened to his diatribe. She felt a rush of thankfulness for having avoided N.E.W.T. Potions under his tutelage.

Professor Slughorn had stayed on after the war to teach and although Hermione's potion-making had never quite surpassed that of the Prince, who happened to be standing on the other side of the classroom, Professor Slughorn had been satisfied with the results her work had yielded.

To her dismay, she had failed to achieve an 'Outstanding', but given the post-war circumstances and the fact she had received 'Outstanding's in the most of her N.E.W.T.s, she had not been _too_ disappointed.

' _Don't_ place the rat spleen with the Ashwinder eggs, you fool!'

Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice as his hot breath brushed against the back of her neck. Her foot slipped as she wobbled precariously on the stool. In an attempt to regain her balance, her hand shot into the air and hit the shelf and, before she could pull her wand from her pocket, half a dozen glass jars fell to the stone floor and smashed.

Her eyes widened as she stared down at the shattered remnants of the glass phials and their contents.

'I – I'm sorry,' she gasped. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to –'

'You _idiot_ ,' he barked.

'It was an –'

'Do you realise how valuable those ingredients were?'

'I'll replace them,' she replied meekly.

Snape arched his eyebrow as he looked at her with contempt.

'The contents of those jars cost more than you'll make in a lifetime.'

'It was a mistake, I –'

'And you expect me to share my workload with a ham-fisted five-year-old?'

'Well, you startled me!' she said defensively. 'Don't creep up behind me like that.'

'Get out,' he growled.

'But, I haven't finished,' she murmured. 'At least, let me clean up a bit –'

'Now!'

* * *

Hermione burrowed under the thin covers of her bed, blood pounding in her ears as she swallowed the bout of tears that threatened to trickle down her cheeks. Anger and humiliation consumed her as she replayed the events of the day in her head.

There was no way to placate the irritable Potions master, who seemed hell-bent on breaking her. Regardless of her attitude or her actions, nothing she did or said could lessen his hostility towards her.

She received no word from him requesting her assistance and Hermione felt a growing sense of despair form in the pit of her stomach. If she decided to call it quits, she would have nowhere else to go. The Ministry would be reluctant to take her back, which vastly reduced her career options, not to mention the fact that Professor Snape would be unlikely to provide a glowing reference.

As dinnertime approached, Hermione contemplated calling a house-elf to avoid facing the ire of the Potions master, but her moral compass would not permit her. Despite the evident joy that the creatures took from serving the Hogwarts students and staff, as she had witnessed during her fourth year, the whole system seemed little different from slavery.

She waited in her chambers until she was certain that most of the staff and students had finished their tea before venturing along the chilly dungeon corridor. Her stomach rumbled noisily as she passed the staff room on her way towards the Great Hall.

'I don't need an assistant,' he snapped. His voice wafted through the open door of the staff lounge like thick smoke. 'Least of all, an insufferable little girl with no experience or natural aptitude for potion-making.'

Hermione was in no doubt of the identity of the speaker or his subject. She stopped in her tracks and slipped behind the door to listen to the argument unfurl. Through the thin gap, she discerned the long, cascading robes of the Potions master.

'Come now, Severus,' tisked Professor McGonagall.

'Minerva –'

'You've got forty N.E.W.T. students, seventy O.W.L. students...not to mention the countless swarms of first and second-years,' she said, clasping a hand to her forehead as if the thought made her dizzy. 'Don't tell me you're managing to keep up with it all. Filius's pile of marking is almost taller than he is!'

'Well, I would be perfectly capable of managing my duties had I not been given the laborious task of... _babysitting_ ,' he drawled.

'She's here to help you, Severus!' McGonagall cried in exasperation. 'Give her some of your marking! Let her plan some of your classes! She's a smart girl – you don't need to hold her hand – she's perfectly capable of marking some essays and preparing first-year work.'

'I will do no such thing,' he sniffed. 'She's not sufficiently qualified or capable of doing the job.'

'Nonsense.'

'Her understanding of the subject is minimal –'

'With an "Exceeds Expectations" at N.E.W.T. level?' she asked dryly.

'I'm not doubting her memory skills, though any simpleton can memorise words from a textbook...As a potioneer, however, she lacks the potential.'

'I'm the sure the first-year syllabus is within her understanding.'

'You would be surprised,' he muttered. 'She will never understand the true intricacies and art of potion-making and it is futile to try. I refuse to waste another decade on a pointless endeavour.'

'You're being ridiculous, Severus,' she scoffed.

'Am I, Minerva? Did I tell you what happened this afternoon?'

Hermione groaned as she recalled the disastrous incident.

'...smashing several Ashwinder eggs along with –'

'We all make mistakes, Severus.' McGonagall cut through his rant. 'Especially in a new job...'

'Yet you think she's competent enough to take on my workload?'

'Perhaps not the senior levels – all in good time – but for now let her deal with the younger years. Give her some tips. We all have mishaps!' she exclaimed shrilly. 'I remember when you did your apprenticeship under Horace. You knocked over an entire rack of glass phials, destroying Galleons worth of supplies.'

'I was not to blame for that incident,' he hissed in mortification. 'Horace snuck up behind me and I inadvertently struck the shelf.'

'Because you've never been known to creep up on people...' she said teasingly. 'What about the time you set fire to the sleeve of his robes and nearly burnt the school down? Not to mention poor Horace...'

Covering her mouth, Hermione stifled the gasp that escaped from her lips. It was impossible to imagine the version of Snape that McGonagall depicted.

Professor Snape turned scarlet as the former Transfiguration teacher suppressed a smirk.

'What I'm saying is that she's not a little girl anymore, Severus, and she isn't your student. If you think you can bully her into leaving then you've got another thing coming. You don't intimidate her that much.'

Hermione felt a rush of warmth towards the Headmistress.

'We will see.'

'Just remember, Severus,' she said gravely as she assumed the thunderous expression that she frequently adopted when dealing with particularly bothersome students. 'If it hadn't been for her, you would not be standing here today.' Her strong, Scottish brogue ricocheted off the poky staff room walls.

The silence that followed was deafening and Hermione had little time to get out of the way as the staff room door was flung open with unnecessary force.

Ducking out of sight, she hid behind a suit of armour and watched as Professor Snape stalked along the corridor. She could easily visualise his tight-lipped expression and pale, burning fury.

Her fingers trembled as she tucked her frizzy hair behind her ears.

Now, she knew for certain.

If there was one thing that Snape resented, with regard to his resurrection, it was the fact that he owed it to Harry Potter and his band of simpering idiots.


	5. Chapter Four

Hermione appeared at breakfast the next morning in anticipation of another stony silence. But, to her surprise, the Potions master greeted her with a sly smirk and a mischievous glint in his eye.

'Miss Granger,' he drawled, 'it has come to my attention that you have not been entirely honest with me.'

'Sir?'

He reached across the breakfast table and thrust his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ into her hands.

' _GRANGER GETS THE BOOT_

 _Following a dramatic scene outside Ministry headquarters, Hermione Granger has been dismissed from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Her dismissal was sanctioned after the twenty-nine-year-old war hero, and long-standing friend of Harry Potter, attacked one of her Ministry co-workers._

 _Unsuspecting Auror trainee, Guinevere Corselet, was on the receiving end of Granger's unwarranted Jelly-Legs jinx last Tuesday. Sources report that the war hero opened fire upon seeing Corselet walk arm-in-arm with her former partner, Ronald Weasley. But this is not the first time that the twenty-year-old apprentice has been subjected to Granger's rampant jealousy..._ '

'I was under the impression you had left of your own accord,' he said lightly.

Her mouth fell open as she skimmed through the article.

'It's not true!' she cried indignantly as she dropped onto the chair beside him. 'It's all rubbish conjured up by that... _infernal_ journalist.'

 _The Daily Prophet_ had made its way among the students and faculty members and Hermione felt their curious stares burn into her skin. To her great relief, however, she noted that the Headmistress had tossed the Ministry's newspaper to the side. Instead, the former Gryffindor Head had propped the latest edition of _Transfiguration Weekly_ against a jug of pumpkin juice to peruse while finishing her breakfast.

'As if I would be so petty as to jinx Ron's new girlfriend,' Hermione grumbled. 'That malicious, conniving –'

'One would presume you would be used to it by now...' Snape said snidely. 'I, for one, have grown extremely weary of seeing your face and lurid love life slapped across the front page of every paper.'

'I used to ignore all the gossip when I was at the Ministry,' she said with a heavy sigh. 'Kingsley knew it was all rot. But, now that I'm working here, if she continues to spout this... _nonsense_ , it could jeopardise my job!'

'Wouldn't that be awful?' He raised a sardonic eyebrow.

'" _Rumour has it that Granger has returned to Hogwarts to carry out a teaching assistantship under the tutelage of ex-Death Eater, turned double agent, Severus Snape_ ",' Hermione read.

'Wonderful,' he interjected dryly. 'Your fame is catching. I really ought to keep my distance...'

'" _How will parents react when they learn that the fiery-tempered young witch has been charged with responsibility of moulding young minds? Mrs Bagthela from Blickling expresses her concern over the appointment..._ "' she continued.

At that moment, a parliament of owls fluttered through the open door of the Great Hall and Hermione's heart sank as she watched four tawny owls soar towards her. Four thick piles of envelopes landed with a resounding thud on her empty breakfast plate.

Professor Snape glanced enquiringly at the bundle of letters.

'Fan mail,' Hermione muttered. The chair legs squeaked against the wooden flooring as she rose to her feet.

'Aren't you going to open it?' he jeered.

She grimaced as she recalled the last time she had opened letters from irate readers of _The Daily Prophet_.

'Not unless you have an antidote to Bubotuber pus.'

* * *

The morning passed without any catastrophes, which was primarily due to the fact that the first – and only – class of the day was not until three o'clock that afternoon.

'What is it?' Hermione asked, unable to keep the irritable tone from her voice, as she set up for the incoming O.W.L. students. She could feel his eyes follow her as she stormed about the classroom, assembling the Potions apparatus with unnecessary force.

'Careful with those phials,' he growled. 'If you acquire any more debt, you'll be working until you're ninety.'

Hermione muttered angrily as she summoned two dozen additional chairs for the fourth-year students.

'I hope your foul temper has abated since this morning,' he remarked with a taunting edge to his voice. 'I don't fancy being on the receiving end of your infamous Jelly-Legs jinx.'

Despite her former belief that she could do nothing to placate the Potions master, Hermione realised that Rita Skeeter's venom towards her seemed to give him an inordinate amount of pleasure. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but her counterstroke was swiftly interrupted by the sound of the bell.

'Wit-Sharpening Potion,' announced Professor Snape as the O.W.L. students entered the classroom, 'which many of you would greatly benefit from,' he added snidely. 'Turn to page thirty-four in your textbooks.'

Hermione racked her brain, but as ironic as it was, she could not recall having ever brewed Wit-Sharpening Potion before. She listened intently as the Potions master issued directions, however, her recollections from her fourth year were particularly hazy. It had been the year of the Triwizard Tournament and her memories of all she had learnt had been supplanted by those from the night of the final challenge.

As the students hurried to the store cupboard to gather scarab beetles and armadillo bile, Professor Snape marched towards her.

'You may go around the class and offer _assistance_ ,' he said stiffly. His black eyes were cold and unforgiving as he looked at her. 'Don't stand there giving them step-by-step instructions, that's what textbooks are for...and _try_ not to break anything,' he muttered.

'Sir, I –' Panic began to rise in her throat as she glanced around at the sea of students. Snape ignored her and returned to his seat to mark the towering stack of papers on his desk. His lips curved into a deep frown as he scrawled fiercely and the tip of his nose brushed the parchment as he lowered his head over the unfortunate student's essay.

There was a shortage of mortars and pestles and the fourth-years were forced to share, resulting in chaos. One by one, hands shot into the air and the students called for help.

'Miss! How many slices of ginger root do we need to add?' asked one of the Ravenclaw students, raising her hand into her air.

'How finely do they need to be chopped?'

Hermione stuttered and stammered as she offered advice, using her problem solving and previous experience to guess the next logical step. She darted from one end of the classroom to the other, continuously wiping her brow with her sleeve.

'What colour should the potion be?' asked a Hufflepuff girl as she peered at her open textbook through thick glasses. 'It says dark orange in the textbook, but mine looks closer to yellow...'

'Add – add some more armadillo bile,' Hermione panted as she smoothed several sweaty strands of hair away from her face. In the stifling heat of the crowded classroom, her curls had grown even frizzier and out of control.

Sweat trickled down her forehead as she bustled around the desks to another group of students clamouring for her assistance.

'Miss! Can you help?'

Hermione hastened towards a boy draped in Hufflepuff robes. Thick, black smoke belched from his cauldron, engulfing the surrounding fourth-years, who erupted into loud coughing fits.

The green potion had began to curdle, emitting a strong odour along with the billowing black fug.

'Take it off the heat and give it a stir,' Hermione advised him as she glanced at the coagulating substance inside his cauldron. 'I'll go and get some powdered daisy roots...that should slow it down,' she added, struggling to keep the doubtful tone from her voice.

But before she reached the store cupboard, she heard the unmistakable bark of Professor Snape.

'Foolish boy! What did you do?'

'Well, sir,' he stammered. 'The potion started going th – thick and bubbly and dark...so I took it off the heat and –'

'Idiot! Removing the heat is only going to cause the potion to thicken and solidify.'

'Miss Granger told me to –'

Hermione blanched as Snape's head snapped upwards. She flinched at the look of disgust he cast in her direction.

'Ten points from Hufflepuff for this...atrocity,' he rasped as he glanced down at his cauldron. 'Clean it up _without_ magic, Gibling!'

The boy did not say anything, but the scowl that he shot at Hermione spoke volumes.

'Sir?' A group of Ravenclaw girls raised their hands into the air.

Snape's robes billowed behind him as he flounced towards the Ravenclaw table.

'Our cauldrons have –'

Hermione craned her neck and spotted four gnarled black shapes lying upon the surface of the desk.

'– melted.'

His pale cheeks turned scarlet as he stared at the lumps of melted pewter.

'Fifty points from Ravenclaw,' he snarled. The lines around his eyes deepened as he examined the extent of the damage. ' _Each_.'

'Each?' they whimpered.

'But, sir –'

'That's two hundred points!'

'I am aware, Horgate,' he said menacingly. 'One more outburst and it'll be three hundred.'

The students stared at him with a combination of despair and resentment.

'Never in my life have I witnessed so much destruction as a result of careless stupidity,' he spat.

At that moment, the bell rang, signalling the students' freedom to pack up their things and head to the Great Hall for dinner.

'I did not give you my permission to go,' he shouted over the clangour of the bell as the fourth-years eagerly reached for their bags. 'You will stay until your desks are clear.'

The grumbling students emptied their potions into phials – with the exception of Gibling and a handful of other fourth-years who had failed to produce something of a pourable consistency – and placed them in racks beside the sink. None of them had managed to achieve the desired result.

Hermione made to sneak out of the room with the horde of pupils once they had been released, but before she could make her escape, the door slammed shut in front of her. Professor Snape stood behind her with his outstretched palm pressed against the door.

'Explain.'

'Sir,' she began feebly. 'I – I don't know. I was helping one student and then I turned round and there was smoke emitting from that boy's cauldron...and then –'

'So, you lost control of the class?'

Hermione gave him a helpless look.

'You know that there are far too many students for one teacher to handle!'

'Correction, Miss Granger, you are not a teacher. You are not even suitably qualified or experienced for the position you have been assigned.' Despite his terse tone, Hermione did not miss the triumphant smirk, which surfaced on his lips. 'You specifically asked me to be given more responsibility and _this_ is the result,' he continued, gesturing to the melted cauldrons.

'It's not my fault!' she insisted. 'It's been almost sixteen years since my fourth year at school! How can you expect me to remember every exact step?'

'That is no excuse. It's not a particularly complex potion. Any blockhead with a _shred_ of logic could figure out the exact brewing procedure.'

Her defence fell from her lips as she stared beseechingly at him. The hardened expression on his face did not waver and, if possible, his look of loathing seemed to intensify.

'I'm sorry,' she said finally, lowering her head. 'If there's anything that I can do –'

'Just get out of my sight, Miss Granger,' he snapped. 'I'm tired of your incompetence.'

* * *

'Hermione,' Neville called as he approached the High Table. 'Is Snape sitting here?' he asked, indicating to the chair on her right.

She shook her head as she stared at her dinner plate.

'I don't think he'll be joining us.'

'Great! Pomona's in Greenhouse Three talking to Professor Grubbly-Plank about the Mandrakes,' he explained as he sat down.

The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile as she gave him a sidelong glance. To her alarm, his round face was marked by deep scratches and his left arm was strapped against his chest, wrapped in thick bandages. Yet despite his sorry state, he beamed at her.

'What on earth happened to you?' Hermione asked as her mouth fell agape in horror.

'The Whomping Willow,' Neville replied as he filled his plate. 'Pomona and I were out treating the tree for heart rot –'

'Heart rot?'

'A fungal disease that trees get,' he explained as he skewered a roast potato with his fork. 'Anyway, I got too close and it walloped me with one of its branches.'

'Merlin! Are you OK? Apart from the obvious...'

'Mangled arm and cracked ribs,' he said matter-of-factly. 'But I'll live.'

'You're lucky that was the worst of it,' she muttered darkly as she cast her mind back to her tussle with the vicious tree. 'How have your classes been?'

'Good!' Neville exclaimed with a genuine smile. 'The students are alright and Professor Sprout's been ever so nice to me. But you should have seen what happened yesterday – I made a _right_ fool of myself.'

'What did you do?'

'We were showing the second-years how to re-pot Mandrakes,' he said through a mouthful of pie. 'Pomona let me demonstrate and I accidentally dropped my Mandrake on the floor. One of the students then tripped over the bloody thing – knocked his earmuffs askew – and then passed out from the sound of its cries! We had to rush him to the Hospital Wing, but _thankfully_ it was just a baby Mandrake.'

'Oh, no!' Hermione's hands flew to her mouth. 'Did Professor Sprout go mental?'

'We laughed about it at dinner,' he said with a nonchalant shrug, 'and poor Jimmy Finnicks was released from the Hospital Wing this morning.'

'That's a relief,' murmured Hermione as she sat back in her chair. 'If I'd done that, Snape would have _killed_ me. He's not far off it already.'

'What do you mean?'

Hermione groaned as she related the story of her afternoon mishap and the events of the day before.

'Honestly, Neville, I've never seen him so angry,' she said as she pressed her palm to her forehead as if she could push the embarrassing memory from her mind.

'But what does he expect? You've only been in the job for two days. You're _bound_ to make mistakes.'

Hermione shrugged as she looked down at her plate. She pierced a row of four holes into the pastry with the prongs of her fork, but she could not bring herself to eat it.

'I – I saw Skeeter's article this morning,' said Neville hesitantly.

'To be honest, I'd forgotten all about it,' sighed Hermione as she laced her fingers through her hair. 'At least that's one advantage of today's accident.'

He gave her a sympathetic grimace.

'Cripes, I'd better get back to the greenhouse!' he cried as he glanced down at his battered watch.

Hermione looked at him enquiringly.

'Classes are over for the day.'

'Yeah, but Pomona wants to check on the Mandrakes and see how well they're sleeping at night,' replied Neville as he stood.

He stopped before leaving and awkwardly grasped her shoulder.

'Try not to let Snape get to you.'

Hermione smiled as she watched him amble between the Gryffindor and Slytherin table towards the door of the Great Hall.

With Neville gone, Hermione felt her bleak mood return as she played with the mangled slice of steak and kidney pie. She could not summon the energy to finish her dinner nor return to her chilly chambers.

Someone jogged her elbow as she stabbed her fork into the mound of mashed potato.

'Stop playing with your food,' growled Snape as he took his usual spot in the chair to her right. 'Eat it.'

'I'm not particularly hungry.'

'If you pass out, don't expect me to carry your malnourished body to the Hospital Wing,' he replied as he reached for the jug of elf-made wine. 'I do not need _another_ burden on my hands.'

He gave her a pointed look as he filled his goblet to the brim. Hermione's knuckles turned pale as she gripped the fork.

'Well, maybe if you discussed your lesson plans with me in the _first_ place, you wouldn't be burdened at all,' she snapped through gritted teeth.

He raised his eyebrows as he looked at her.

'Most accomplished potioneers have a natural aptitude when it comes to potion-making,' he replied. 'Perhaps if you possessed a sliver of talent in the subject, I wouldn't be forced to replace half a dozen cauldrons.'

Hermione thought of Harry's old graffitied copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and the instructions scribbled across the margins. The Prince had possessed a natural talent so much so that his methods gleaned greater success than those of the original author. He had been a constant source of jealousy and frustration for her throughout her sixth year and, to make matters worse, he now sat beside her as her colleague.

'You've no one to blame but yourself,' she said hotly. 'So far, you've left me to rely entirely on my own memory from when I last did these potions, which – as you've kindly reminded me – was over ten years ago.'

'And here I was, thinking that your memory skills were sublime,' he murmured into his cup. His eyes glittered as he looked at her. 'Apparently not.'

Hermione glowered at him as he replaced his cup on the table and began cutting his pie.

'Most potioneers use their intuition when brewing even the _simplest_ of potions,' Snape continued. 'You should be able to concoct school-level potions standing on your head and I confess that your ineptitude is most alarming.'

'It's easy for you to say! You've had this job for decades – you know the syllabus inside out. I've been working in an entirely different domain for the past ten years so _forgive me_ if I need a bit of extra assistance in familiarising myself with the coursework.'

He looked down at her as she spoke and Hermione watched the frown form on his lips.

'After all, I am here to help you,' she continued. 'Perhaps you could even let me help in planning some of your lessons or doing some of your marking. I used to help Harry and Ron by proofreading their essays before they were due.'

'Am I supposed to be impressed by this flagrant violation of school rules? Your previous acts of plagiarism and cheating do not constitute as relevant work experience,' he said with a scowl, 'and, as I've told you before, I do not need an assistant.'

'Look around you!' cried Hermione, gesturing to the four tables placed along the Great Hall. 'Look at how many students there are! Where would you be without my help?'

'I'd be several Galleons richer,' he replied bitterly. 'As it is, I now have to fork out for half a dozen pewter cauldrons and an entire year's worth of ingredients.'

Hermione felt her face turn scarlet as she lowered her gaze.

'I'll give you the gold –'

'It's not just the financial burden,' he retorted as his palm landed onto the table. 'Your clumsiness, your incompetence, your inexperience all factor in to the equation –'

Icy fingers squeezed her throat as she listened to his diatribe. Never had he admonished her so severely. Such treatment had always been reserved for Harry. During her school days, he had sneered at her textbook answers, but she had never been the subject of his venom. Hermione could not decipher what she had done to provoke so much loathing. It seemed unlikely that his anger could stem solely from the part that she played in his rescue.

As his furious remonstration continued, Hermione recalled the humdrum routine of working life at the Ministry. Her work in the Department of Law Enforcement had been easy, _too_ easy, but she had never endured such contempt and disdain from her colleagues. At that moment, the constant tedium of life at the Ministry seemed preferable to the endless barrage of insults and jibes that the Potions master flung at her.

Her vision blurred as she focused on her plate while Snape's furious rant had not yet reached an end.

'You have flouted my rules inside _my_ classroom, disobeying my commands, damaging school property not to mention –'

His voice pierced her ears, but in her mind, Hermione had started to visualise her return to the Ministry. She could count on Harry to be glad of her decision, but her own personal disappointment would be difficult to overcome.

Hermione smirked as she glanced upwards at the Gryffindor banner dangling above the maroon-clad students. Courage, resilience and determination were among the key traits of her former House. Abandoning her position was neither courageous nor brave, but she could not imagine a successful career working alongside the Potions master. Hermione was alarmingly aware of the fact that if she could not earn the respect of her colleagues, she would never win the respect of her students.

Rita Skeeter's article, however, had complicated matters. There would be no way to return to the Ministry without extensive investigation. Hermione knew that the scheming journalist's claims would have to be looked into and, even then, there was no guarantee that her job would be returned to her. Kingsley Shacklebolt, as Minister for Magic, paid no heed to idle gossip, but accusations of violence against another employee could not be taken lightly. Even as Minister, his actions were only permitted by leave of his council and advisers.

The fork fell to her plate with a loud clatter as she rose from the table.

'Where are you going?' Snape demanded.

'To my chambers,' she replied quietly.

'I have not finished.'

His words fell on deaf ears as Hermione turned her back on him and descended from the raised platform.

* * *

Her tears spotted the blank sheet of parchment and Hermione wiped her eyes impatiently with the back of her hand as she considered how to phrase her entreaty to her former employer. The thought of admitting defeat filled her with shame and disappointment, but the fleeting moment of pride she had experienced the day before could not redeem the endless vituperation from the Potions master.

She scrunched the damp parchment into a ball and threw it against the window and landed on the floor by her bed. Her only other option was to write to the Headmistress, but she knew only too well that her complaint to the previous Transfiguration teacher would fuel Snape's vendetta against her.

She was roused from her contemplation by the sound of gentle hooting. A grey owl, perched on the ledge outside her window, impatiently pecked at the glass pane until Hermione rose from her chair.

After struggling with the catch, she managed to wrangle the window open and the bird glided into the room, landing on the arm of a chair. With deft fingers, Hermione unravelled the tiny scroll of parchment bound to its proffered leg before the owl took flight and disappeared through the window into the night.

' _At the behest of the Headmistress, I will acquiesce to your request. You will receive my timetable and lesson plans on the evening before classes begin. You will have one day to acquaint yourself with the work, which is_ more _than sufficient._

 _SS_ '

On the back of the parchment, he had scrawled a class schedule for the following day. It was brief, but his note gave her enough information to prepare for the upcoming lessons.

Relief welled in her stomach as she reread his message. It was terse and evidently written in anger, judging by the spiky frantic scribble, but his acquiescence gave her hope.

She wondered briefly if he would respond to the Headmistress's involvement with increased resentment and bitterness towards her. But Hermione quickly shook the thought from her mind as she reached for her old school textbooks sitting on a dusty shelf above the fireplace.


	6. Chapter Five

The Potions master had been true to his word and the following days passed in relative harmony, but their concord was conditional upon minimal contact with each other. In the evening, Hermione would flick through her old textbooks, compiling a list of notes and additional tips for the brewing of each potion for each lesson. She arrived promptly every morning at breakfast, before following his brisk footsteps into the dungeons. Silently, she would assemble the classroom in preparation for the forthcoming year group, allowing Snape to tackle the growing stack of marking. Despite their wordless exchanges, the arrangement had made for an almost pleasant way of life for Hermione.

Her contentment with the teaching aspect of her job allowed her to turn her attention to the sorry state of her private quarters.

She decided to transfigure the stained, outdated furniture that decorated her chambers and, with a flick of her wand, the tired green curtains transformed into waterfalls of thick red velvet, blocking the harsh autumn breeze. The chintz sofa became a maroon settee and she succeeded in removing the last of the dirt from the grating that surrounded the kitchen tiles. Thick layers of dust vanished from every surface and only the lumpy mattress and grimy bathroom were exempt from her efforts and even magic made little improvement.

Hermione stood back to admire her work and as she did, she saw a shadow appear in the night sky.

As it drew closer, she discerned a familiar snowy owl flapping towards the window; not one of the school owls that Professor Snape usually sent.

'Hedwig!' Hermione cried in surprise as she opened the window.

The bird cascaded onto her arm and affectionately pecked her fingers as Hermione unwound the strip of parchment.

' _Dear Hermione,_

 _Hope all's well with you and that you're enjoying your new job. Tell Severus that I was asking for him –_ '

Hermione's eyes widened in astonishment. Harry's casual use of the professor's first name, when she – as his colleague – had not been permitted such a liberty, stunned her and to see his written concern for the Potions master came as no slight shock.

' _Ginny's doing great – only a few weeks left to go! Hopefully we'll be able to do something for your birthday before she pops._

 _Mrs Weasley's driving me insane (but don't tell Ginny that) and she's talking about staying with us for a few weeks after the baby's born. I might need to have a word with Mr Weasley – who's undoubtedly enjoying the peace and quiet with her gone._

 _Also, I spoke to Ron a few days ago. He was appalled by Rita Skeeter's latest piece and he's reported her to the senior staff for libel. He said he wanted to write to you – he feels dreadful about the whole thing – and he hopes that Rita's lies haven't affected your new job. McGonagall's no fool, at least. He misses you, Hermione, and I think he'd like to come out with us if we do go somewhere for your birthday. Think about it, OK?_

 _Hope to hear from you soon._

 _Take care,_

 _Harry_ '

Hermione rubbed her chest with her hand as she reread the latter half of Harry's note. Regardless of her feelings towards Ron, which had varied dramatically throughout the past few months, she could not deny his compassion nor his kindness.

It had been his caring and selfless behaviour during the battle as he insisted upon freeing the house-elves that had fuelled her desire for him. Although his thoughtful nature was not enough to salvage their romance, Hermione felt a pang of regret. She could easily imagine his distress over the article, knowing that the positive portrayal of his own character served only to damage her reputation further.

She glanced down as she felt a stinging sensation in her thumb. Hedwig had departed and one of the school's tawny owls had taken her place and was furiously nipping her skin to get her attention.

'Ouch!' she winced as she carefully unrolled the scroll from its leg. 'I'm doing it, I'm doing it!'

 _Tomorrow –_

 _Double period with the N.E.W.T. class – Hiccoughing Solution_  
 _Break_  
 _Double period with the second-years (Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff) – Forgetfulness Potion_  
 _Lunch_  
 _Single class with the first-years (Gryffindor and Slytherin) – Boil Cure Potion_

Hermione cast her mind back to her N.E.W.T. year with Professor Slughorn. If she remembered correctly, she had taken her Apparition test the day that Slughorn had taught Hiccoughing Solutions. She had came across the solution a few times while revising, but she had paid little heed to the potion as the textbook instructions were deficient, lacking in explanation and examples of practical use.

However, Hermione was all too aware of the consequences of trying to help students with the brewing process of a potion that she did not fully understand herself. Even several days later, she continued to have flashbacks from her first two nightmare days of teaching. Her only option was to seek out the formidable Potions master and ask for his assistance.

Glancing down at her watch, Hermione contemplated going to his chambers. It was only half past ten, therefore it was likely that he would still be awake. But at the same time, she did not want to disturb the unspoken agreement to not speak to each other that they had established.

Feeling like a rule-breaking third-year again, she crept along the dungeon corridor towards the Potions classroom, where his private rooms adjoined. Although, as a member of staff, she had every right to wander about the castle at night, Hermione had yet to feel like a member of the faculty as opposed to a lost, overgrown student.

She grazed her knuckles as she rapped on the door of the classroom. Her knock was met with silence. Hermione knocked again, louder, skinning the joints of her fingers as she did so. Snape was not known for his buzzing social life, therefore, it was unlikely that he was not inside.

'Maybe he's feeling poorly,' she murmured to herself. She did not relish the thought of returning to her room without ensuring that all was well. It did not matter so much about the potion or the timetable, her main concern lay with the fact that he had not came to the door.

Hermione hesitated as she withdrew her wand from her robes. There were strict rules about breaking into classrooms, but she hastily reminded herself that school rules did not apply to her anymore.

' _Alohomora_ ,' she whispered as she pushed the door with the heel of her palm.

'Sir,' she called as she entered the classroom. Hermione peered around her, but there was no sign of the Potions master until she saw a chink of light emitting from the door leading to his chambers.

Her knuckles rapped against the heavy wooden door.

'Professor?'

The door swung on its hinges as she lightly nudged the wooden panel. Tentatively, she edged around the door and entered his chambers.

His quarters were far bigger than her own meagre living space. The furniture varied in shades of emerald and jade and the whole room was lit up by an enormous fireplace. It was there that she spotted him. His thin form was hunched over as he knelt on the hearth as if to keep warm and Hermione hastened towards him.

'Sir! Are you alright?'

Hermione halted as she spied the familiar face of Lucius Malfoy looking up at her from the flames. The logs of wood distorted his features, but there was no doubting the supercilious leer that seemed permanently etched on his lips.

'What's _he_ doing here?'

The last time she had seen Draco's father had been at the battle, but before that she remembered the skirmish at Malfoy Manor. She could recall his skittish excitement at the thought of forgiveness and the glory he would receive from being the one to hand over Harry to his master. She remembered the way his long, yellowing fingernails had pierced Draco's shoulder as he urged his son to look closely at Harry's disfigured appearance, menace laced through his hoarse voice.

Professor Snape's head whipped round as glared at her.

'I might ask you the same question,' Snape snarled. His expression was thunderous. 'Who gave you permission to access my private rooms?'

'Your door was unlocked.'

'That does not give you leave to enter.'

Snape turned towards the flames.

'We'll continue this discussion another time, Lucius,' he muttered briskly.

'Very well. Good night, Severus,' he said with a wry smile. 'You too, Miss Granger.'

With a final leer, his pale face disappeared from the fire.

'Why were you talking to _him_?' She failed to keep the accusatory tone from her voice.

'That is not your concern,' Snape retorted as he rose to his feet.

'Do you have any idea of the things that he's has done?' she asked. 'How can you sit there and have a conversation with him as if nothing has happened?'

'What gives you the freedom to think you have a say in my personal life or whom I choose to associate with?' His eyes became slits as he looked at her.

'Perhaps the fact that you are associating with a criminal.'

'Lucius was never condemned,' he retorted icily.

'He escaped by the skin of his teeth due to bribery and cowardice. He did exactly the same as Igor Karkaroff –'

'Would you rather he had kept the information to himself?'

'Of course not,' she insisted, flushing red as she spoke, 'but it was part of his desperate attempt to save his own skin from Azkaban. Not an earnest endeavour to compensate for his wrongdoings.'

'His transgressions were not worthy of incarceration. On the contrary, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement saw fit to include him in the Ministry's rehabilitation programme.'

'I used to work there, I know him. He's an incompetent, foolish man with a clouded sense of judgement, which is clearly shown by the fact he overlooked what Malfoy did at the World Cup,' she said darkly. 'If he continues to be so dismissive when it comes to punishing crimes against Muggles, he has little chance of keeping the support of the people.'

'None of them were hurt,' he snapped. 'It was harmless Muggle-baiting and it was almost twenty years ago.'

Hermione stopped in her tracks and her eyes flared as she looked at him.

'You can't be serious,' she whispered. 'You cannot stand there and try to defend their actions, excusing what happened as "harmless Muggle-baiting".'

He lowered his eyes to the ground and, for a moment, she thought she detected a flicker of shame.

'I have heard enough, Miss Granger. I do not need to justify my actions to you.'

'But, why –'

Striding towards her, he grasped her upper arm and frogmarched her to the door of his chambers.

'Get out,' he snarled as he suddenly released his grip.

Hermione staggered backwards over the threshold of the classroom as she stared at the fury that blazed across his features.

'I don't know what possessed you to invade my private space after hours,' he hissed, 'but I assure you that if it happens again, I'll curse you into oblivion.'

Her cheeks flushed pink.

'I – It wasn't my intention to disturb you,' she replied. 'I had a question about your lesson plan.'

'What is it?' Snape closed the door behind him and marched towards the front of the classroom. Leaning against the desk, he folded his arms and waited. 'Well?'

'It was about the Hiccoughing Solution. I sat my Apparition test on the day that Slughorn taught the lesson. I remember skimming over it before my exam, but I don't recall much,' she said with a shrug, 'I mean it's Hiccoughing Solution, it hardly warrants a detailed study. It's not exactly a useful concoction, is it?'

'The examinations board does not adhere to what you deem to be _useful_ , Miss Granger. It's on the syllabus and it's my duty to teach it. If you think such things are above you, perhaps you ought to find a different profession.'

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh.

'That's not what I'm saying. I mean, it _does_ seem a rather pointless potion. Libatius Borage clearly feels the same way given how little information he provides in the textbook, but my main concern is that I'm not familiar with the brewing process and the instructions aren't very informative,' she replied.

Snape exhaled as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.

'It's a simple potion that –'

'Well, it can't be _that_ simple if it's part of the N.E.W.T. syllabus,' she countered.

'Do not interrupt,' he growled. 'The Headmistress has demanded that I share my lesson plans with you, which I have conceded to. However I do not have the time to elucidate –'

'It's a straightforward question, Professor,' she said. 'Surely you have five minutes to spare to answer my query? Perhaps if you skipped the tirade about my inadequacy, the act of responding to questions would be infinitely less time-consuming?'

He glunched at her and a furious tic developed in his cheek.

'You insolent, little –'

'Why do you hate me so much?' she asked , throwing her hands into the air. 'Ever since I started, you've been malicious and cruel, spouting an endless stream of disparaging comments about my abilities. What could I have possibly done to anger you to this extent?'

'Ah yes, what could you have _possibly_ done?' His mocking tone rang in her ears. 'Suffice it to say, I do not share my colleagues' opinions – You are mediocre and lazy, garnering praise and admiration for memorising the work of greater witches and wizards. You're no different from Gilderoy Lockhart. A fraud with a decent memory. You are not worthy of the high respect that you seem to have earned from the other faculty members.'

Her eyes lowered to the hand that had been scarred by the burning tip of her wand.

'My mediocrity saved your life.' A numb, icy sensation spread across her lips as the words that slipped out came from somewhere inside her that was out with her control.

Snape stood bolt upright and his eyes flashed as he stared at her. The blank expression on his face was more terrifying than his distorted red-faced fury.

Slowly, his lips twisted into an unpleasant smirk.

'Again, you try to snatch the credit for yourself. I owe my current health to the work of the Healers at St Mungo's.' Surreptitiously, he shook his sleeve and the black cuff covered the red mark below his knuckle.

'If it hadn't been for me, _or_ for Harry, you'd still be rotting on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.'

Her lips felt like rubber as she spoke. It was as if her brain had been numbed by the anger that she felt and, at that moment, her desire to placate the Potions master had been replaced entirely by the fervent impulse to infuriate him.

She knew she had gone too far as he paced towards her and Hermione backed against the wall.

During class, he always kept his distance, but now he stood merely an inch away from her. His nose almost brushed her brow as he glared at her. Her senses were engulfed by his scent. He smelled like the Potions classroom; smoke, spice and thyme. Hermione shrunk against the stone slabs as he bore down on her.

'Did you ever consider the possibility that I did not want to be saved? I had made my peace with the intended outcome. If you expect me to grovel in gratitude to you and Potter,' he spat, 'you will be most disappointed.'

Above the collar of his frock coat, she spotted the pale scar where Nagini had bitten him. It was not entirely dissimilar from the knife wound scored across her own throat.

'I didn't mean –' she began, shaking her head through the furious, red haze that had consumed her moments ago. 'Of course that's not what I want, but a bit of bloody respect would be nice. I'm trying my best!'

'I see no evidence of your efforts.'

'I've hardly slept all week! I'm trying to both come to grips with a new job and revise everything I learnt at school as well as trying to foresee every potential problem that could set you off. I am constantly on edge, evaluating and assessing everything I do or say in order to avoid provoking your anger. I don't know what I've done to make you hate me so much, you look at me with such loathing, and I can't understand it. All of the other assistants are treated with respect and equality and here I am terrified that you're going to blow your stack every time I do something wrong. But you can't make me leave. I've done nothing to warrant this behaviour. Your foul temper and your bullying might work with the students, but it won't work on me. So you can either continue to work in sullen silence or we can agree to cooperate and maybe even try to...get along.'

He sniffed contemptuously as he took a step backwards.

'Leave.'

'About the –'

'I told you to leave.'

Hermione raised a hand to her thudding heart as she skirted round him and left through the door of the classroom.

* * *

The tension between them hung thick in the air. At several points throughout breakfast the next morning, Hermione thought she caught Professor McGonagall looking anxiously towards them from the centre of the High Table.

Hermione felt a sense of nervous trepidation as she stepped into the Potions classroom followed closely by the horde of N.E.W.T. students. Her grasp of Hiccoughing Solution was weak despite poring over Borage's _Advanced Potion-Making_. She felt completely in the dark and she could already imagine herself floundering once the students began to holler questions.

'I confess that I have been markedly underwhelmed by the quality of work you have produced thus far,' Professor Snape drawled. 'If any of you fail to concoct a satisfactory solution, the repercussions will be severe.' Apprehension flickered over the faces of the sixth-years. 'Well, get on with it!'

If the over-populated classes were a problem, it was nothing compared to the language barriers that had arisen. Four girls from Beauxbatons stood in front of their cauldrons, staring in bewilderment as Professor Snape glowered at them from the front of the classroom.

As she eavesdropped, Hermione picked up certain phrases from their whispered conversation.

'Je ne comprends pas,' muttered one of the girls. She tugged on her long silvery blonde hair as she reread the instructions.

'Qu'est ce qu'il a dit?'

'Aucune idée.'

'Enough babbling over there,' snarled Professor Snape as he strode towards the cluster of Beauxbatons students.

'Qu'est ce qu'on doit faire?'

'Il a dit quoi?'

His ashen face turned red as he slammed his palm onto the open textbook. Several strands of black hair dangled in front of his face, which he impatiently brushed to the side.

'Ten points from Hufflepuff.'

Hermione hastily swept across the room towards the French students.

'Je peux expliquer...' she began.

Snape watched her through narrowed eyes as she tripped over her forgotten French and gestured to the ingredients and the apparatus on the table.

'Ah, oui, d'accord.'

'Merci, Madame.'

'It seems the Headmistress did not foresee the problem of language barriers when she accepted a host of students from Madame Maxime. Nevertheless, you could have saved a lot of time if you'd done that before,' Professor Snape muttered into her ear as the Beauxbatons students began lighting a fire under their cauldrons. His breath felt warm against her skin.

'I'm here as a teaching assistant – not a translator,' Hermione retorted. 'Maybe if you weren't so hostile, and a bit more appreciative, I would have been happy to step in earlier.'

He muttered something which could have been 'thank you' or something infinitely less polite, but Hermione merely shrugged her shoulders in response and wandered towards the group of Gryffindor students.

In light of their argument the night before, the day passed as smoothly as possible. He did not requite her for her assistance with the French students, slinging several terse remarks at her over the course of the afternoon, but that did not dampen Hermione's spirits. As she sat down at dinner, she felt a wave of relief, anticipating the moment when she would be free of him. She relished the thought of an entire weekend sans Snape and it was with great haste that she devoured her roast dinner.

'I trust that you do not have plans, this evening?' Snape asked suddenly as he raised his goblet of wine to his lips.

Her mouth dropped as she turned to face him and the roast caught at the back of her throat, causing her to erupt into a loud coughing fit.

Snape sneered briefly at her as if he could understand the incredulous thought that passed through her mind, before raising his wand.

' _Anapneo_ ,' he muttered and her throat cleared. 'As I was saying, I have over three hundred essays to mark. After much consideration, I have decided to surrender to your insistent badgering and allow you to mark some of the first-year essays.'

Hermione was torn between shock, horror and delight. It was a pleasant surprise to learn that he had decided she was capable of taking on some of his workload, but the relaxing evening she had planned to celebrate the end of the week was ruined.

'Well? Don't just stare at me gormlessly.'

Hermione nodded as she swallowed the last of her chicken.

'Good. Are you finished?' he asked briskly.

'Yes, sir,' she replied as she pushed her chair back.

'Let's go.'

* * *

The thick stack of essays that he dropped unceremoniously onto her desk towered over her head. She had stationed herself behind one of the students' desks that faced his own table, but the pillar of parchment blocked him and his own considerable pile of marking from sight.

'Quill. Ink. Blotting paper,' he stated, thrusting them into her hands. 'Don't be lenient. If any more than half of them manage to pass, I'll know that you were too generous.'

Hermione gulped as she reached for the first essay at the top of the stack.

She could understand the glower that seemed to settle so easily upon Snape's features as she read through the students' work. The handwriting was atrocious and it did not get any better. Sloping, spidery, squint, unintelligible words floated across the parchment and Hermione felt a sense of hopelessness as she scrawled the word 'illegible' in red ink across the margins.

After an hour of silent marking, Hermione heard him open a drawer in his desk. She peeped around the overshadowing tower of essays and watched as he poured himself a glass of Firewhisky.

She blushed as his eyes snapped upwards to meet her gaze.

'What is it?' he growled as he slammed the glass onto the table.

'Nothing.' She quickly shook her head and returned to her work. Two more hours passed and Hermione wished she had fabricated an excuse to leave. Her head pounded as she squinted at another sheet of poor handwriting.

'I think that is sufficient for one night,' he finally announced.

Leaning back in her chair, Hermione rubbed her eyes with her knuckles.

'Thank goodness,' she groaned.

'Indeed.' He poured another drop of whisky into his tumbler.

'Did you drink that entire bottle?' she asked disbelievingly as she looked up at the empty container resting on his desk.

His eyes were cold as he glanced up at her.

'I'm growing rather weary of all your prying questions. My personal life and habits have nothing to do with you. If it were up to _me_ , my professional life would have nothing to do with you either.'

'You drink a lot,' she observed quietly.

'And with good reason,' he muttered, tilting the glass in her direction.

Hermione scowled at him in reply.

'Am I that bad?'

'Worse,' he snarled.

'I am here to help you, you know...Not to make life harder for you.'

He sniffed as he drained the glass.

'You are really difficult at times,' she continued.

'And you are a nuisance.'

'Why are you so unkind?'

'Because one's patience tends to wane after several decades of dealing with imbeciles.'

'I don't deliberately endeavour to annoy you,' she replied.

Snape grunted as he vanished the empty bottle of Firewhisky and conjured a fresh, sealed bottle.

'You may go, Miss Granger. I've spent enough time in your presence this week to last me a lifetime.'

Hermione glanced hesitantly at the floor.

'Sir?'

'Oh, here we go...' He rubbed his forehead wearily with his palm.

'I wanted to ask you about – about last night. With Malfoy,' she said, fixing her gaze on the paperwork on her desk. 'I just – I just want to know...Why do you still associate with that lot?'

'That is enough.'

'I'm worried, I don't think –'

'I'm serious.'

'Why would you want to cling onto that life?' she asked despairingly. 'Do you sit and reminisce about the old days with them? Or worse? Those men are just so _evil_. I can't see why you would want to –'

'Miss Granger.' His voice was low and menacing. 'Get out.'

She looked at her lap, focusing on the disappearance of her calves after the pointed cliffs of her kneecaps.

Snape busied himself with the task of opening the bottle of whisky, unscrewing the lid and filling the tumbler to the brim. He placed the bottle on the desk with a heavy thud and drained half the glass in a single gulp.

Tentatively, Hermione rose to her feet and approached his desk before picking up the spirit. With her wand, she opened his drawer and made to replace the bottle inside.

'Leave it,' he growled, not looking at her.

'I think you've had enough for tonight.'

'Oh, I've had more than enough, Miss Granger,' he said sarcastically. 'It's time you left.'

Hermione sighed as he kept his gaze trained on the opposite wall.

'Leave the bottle.'


	7. Chapter Six

_Did you ever consider the possibility that I did not want to be saved?_

The lines on his forehead became more pronounced as he stepped towards her. A hot gust of breath crawled over her skin as his words resonated in her ears.

 _I did not want to be saved._

The scene vanished and Hermione found herself peering through a window of an impressive, pale brick house that bore an uncanny resemblance to Malfoy Manor. Through the smeared glass pane, she spotted the typical ostentatious furnishings of a grand house and a long black marble table, where several cloaked men sat.

She assumed they were men, but each wore a black gnarled mask that hid their features from sight. Above their heads, a green smoke serpent laced itself through the eye sockets of a skull as its tail slithered over the bared teeth.

Cruel eyes glittered through the holes in the mask of the conjurer, but it was the man to his left that caught Hermione's attention. His eyes seemed black and empty as they focused on the green snake. His gloved hands gripped his wand while his companions stared wordlessly at the enchanted smoke skull.

She did not see one of the masked men rise from the table until he appeared suddenly at the window. His pale lips narrowed into a thin line. The glass pane melted into thin air, leaving her exposed to his curse, as he raised his wand and a flash of green light erupted from the tip of his wand.

A loud bang echoed like metal on oak as the curse struck her chest, knocking her backwards onto the gravel.

The ground felt hard beneath her, but when her hand fell to her side, her fingers brushed against soft cotton.

Another bang woke her and Hermione felt the metal coils inside the mattress dig into her spine while her hands curled in her duvet.

Panting heavily, she felt a momentary rush of relief as she processed the familiar surroundings of her private quarters. She had never imagined she could be so relieved to find herself in the cold, draughty dungeon room.

Her hair felt heavy and damp with the sheet of sweat that drenched her body. Her skin felt sticky and uncomfortably wet as she sat bolt upright in her bed and blood pounded in her ears as images from the dream flashed in her head. The dark, empty eyes that stared out through the mask seemed remarkably reminiscent of a certain someone and Hermione felt a rising sense of unease form in the pit of her stomach.

The loud banging resumed and she realised that it had not been her dream, but a rather irate visitor.

'Who is it?' she called as she shrugged on her dressing gown.

'Hermione? Let us in!'

Blearily, she rubbed the rheum from her eyes and staggered towards the door of her chambers.

'SURPRISE!'

'Surprise!'

Harry and Neville hurtled through the open door and wrapped their arms around her. They were followed by a very pregnant Ginny, who could only waddle very slowly with her hands clasped protectively over her protruding belly.

'What are you all doing here?' Hermione gasped as the boys let go, freeing her lungs from their rib-crushing embrace. She stepped towards Ginny and gave the youngest Weasley a very delicate cuddle. 'Especially _you_!'

'I know,' agreed Neville, turning his gaze to Ginny's bulging stomach. 'You look ready to burst.'

'Thanks a bunch,' said Ginny dryly. 'I might be somewhat incapacitated at the moment, but I can still use a wand. Anyway, we decided we would do something for your birthday this weekend, Hermione, since I don't know how much longer this cheeky chappy is going to stay put.' She dropped her head to address the bump that strained against her t-shirt.

'And we managed to sneak out the house without Molly noticing,' said Harry, raising his eyebrows significantly.

'Plus I thought you could do with a bit of cheering up,' said Neville as he bounded across the room and settled into the sofa. 'After a week with Snape, you deserve a treat.'

'I wish you'd given me a bit more notice,' said Hermione as she self-consciously patted her curls in an attempt to reduce the frizz. Glistening pearls of sweat continued to trickle down her spine and wet strands of hair plastered the back of her neck, which was damp with perspiration.

'Oh, you look great,' huffed Ginny. 'I wish I could say the same. I'm lucky if I can find the energy to _brush_ my hair some mornings, considering I can hardly fit inside our bathroom anymore. Just stick on some clothes, brush your teeth and you'll be good to go!'

'And just where are we going?' she asked as she rummaged in her chest of drawers. Her work robes had been discarded in a hasty pile upon the settee.

'The Three Broomsticks,' replied Harry. 'However, we did consider Madam Puddifoot's.' An expression of mock seriousness crossed his face.

Hermione grimaced.

'Hm, yeah, let's not.'

A loud cough suddenly interrupted their laughter and, out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spotted a figure appear in the doorway.

'Hi, Hermione.'

She recognised his voice before she clapped eyes on his thin, gangly form, leaning against the wooden door frame. He had grown his hair and underneath the tufts of vibrant ginger, she spotted the rueful expression that worried his freckled face.

'Hello,' Hermione replied as she stared at him. Her mouth dried and her voice came out as an unnaturally high squeak.

Ron took a step forward, glancing about the room as he moved.

'This is nice,' he commented awkwardly, gesturing to the furniture before his hand fell limply by his side.

'You should've seen the state of it before,' said Hermione, forcing a nonchalant airiness into her voice as she tore her gaze away from him. 'All grime and chintz furniture.'

Ginny gave a mock shudder of revulsion as she lowered herself onto Hermione's bed.

Harry and Neville, however, kept their eyes trained on Hermione, watching her reaction to the unexpected appearance of her former boyfriend. Ron, too, seemed rather nervous as he looked at her, as if in fearful anticipation of a furious outburst.

The tension shattered with a loud cry from Ginny.

'Merlin! You actually _sleep_ on this thing?' she exclaimed as prodded the mattress with her finger.

They broke into laughter and the tense glances melted into relief as Hermione gave Ron a genuine smile.

'Feels weird, doesn't it? To be back,' remarked Ron as the quintuple exited Hermione's chamber and strolled along the stone corridor towards the steep, winding staircase. 'And to think, after all this time, I've still got goosebumps! Just the thought of bumping into the great, greasy bat of the dungeons makes me –'

Ron stopped in his tracks as a familiar black-clad form suddenly appeared out of one of the school's passageways concealed behind a huge tapestry of Salazar Slytherin. Hermione's heart began to beat faster as she looked at him. She recalled the blank, dark eyes peering out of the holes of the mask in her dream. The way his gaze had followed the oscillating movements of the snake's tail as the serpent slithered over the crown of the green skull seemed permanently etched in her mind.

'Well, well, if it isn't the Gryffindor dream team.' Sarcasm dripped from every syllable.

Ron swallowed thickly as the Potions master bared his teeth in a faint sneer.

'Professor! Long time no see. H – How are you?' he stammered as his freckled ears turned pink.

'Spectacular, Mr Weasley,' he replied dryly, raising a thin black eyebrow. 'Here I was, thinking my Saturday couldn't get any better and now I have the pleasure of this little reunion.'

'Blimey, he's not changed much,' muttered Harry into her ear.

Hermione felt a rush of relief that he was not in the mood to corner Snape and subject him to endless questions about his change of allegiance.

'We're just on our way out,' she said.

Ron took this as a moment of opportunity to scurry ahead, followed closely by Harry and Neville, while poor Ginny brought up the rear, toddling in their wake as she clutched her belly.

'As am I,' replied Snape as his pale fingers adjusted the travelling cloak fastened around his neck.

'Where are you going?' Hermione asked as she matched his stride towards the staircase. Anxiety began to augment as she considered the notion that her dream was not beyond the realms of possibility.

'Out.'

'Oh, somewhere nice?'

Her attempts at joviality faltered under Snape's death stare.

'You continue to labour under the illusion that you are of a standing to speak to me as my equal,' he growled. 'You are not my equal, Miss Granger, and the paltry title of Potions _assistant_ that the Headmistress has bestowed upon you does not make it so.'

'I just –'

'Good day, Miss Granger.'

He marched along the corridor, sweeping up the staircase behind the former Gryffindors, much to Ron's sudden alarm, before overtaking and disappearing out of sight.

'You deserve another Order of Merlin for having to deal with that grumpy bugger on a daily basis,' Ron muttered as Hermione scurried after them.

Madam Rosmerta's eyes nearly popped out of her head as Hermione and Ron walked into the pub side-by-side.

The staring was not one-sided and Ron also struggled to tear his eyes away from the barmaid, whom he had long nourished a soft spot for as a teenager.

In the past, Hermione would have felt a pang of irritation, but given their circumstances, she merely shook her head and rolled her eyes as they ordered five pints of Butterbeer and five plates of roast pheasant with port and chestnut sauce.

As they sat down at a table, Hermione could not shake the disquiet she felt about Snape's disappearance that afternoon. She knew she had came on too strongly the day before and it would require a lot effort and silence on her part to redeem herself and salvage some sense of concord. But the thought of him reuniting with his former comrades was not a pleasant one. It was not that she doubted his integrity, but the idea that he actively _wanted_ to spend time with such men stirred her concern.

She was roused from her thoughts by a sudden announcement from Harry that made Ron choke on his Butterbeer.

Harry looked sheepish as he finished and Ginny tisked before turning her head to face the window. Evidently, the subject had already provoked opposing opinions among the couple.

'Well, that's a bit of a kick in the teeth,' said Ron indignantly. 'You're sitting here with your oldest friends in the world and you want to make _that_ slimey git the godfather of your unborn child? Did you _see_ how he greeted you? He barely even looked at you! If you thought you had a bad upbringing with the Dursleys, imagine what your poor child would go through.'

'Wait, who are you talking about?' asked Hermione.

'Snape!' cried Ron. 'Harry wants to make Snape the godfather!'

'You do realise the _point_ of a godparent, don't you, Harry?' asked Hermione. 'The role of a godparent is to look after a child if the parents are, for whatever reason, unable to do so. As self-sacrificing as he's been, he wouldn't be top of my list for babysitting duties.'

'Thanks, Hermione. That was my argument too,' said Ginny crisply. Her eyebrows had almost disappeared out of sight as she raised them at her. 'But Harry doesn't seem to agree.'

'Well, it's more of an honorary thing, anyway,' said Harry, rubbing the back of his neck. 'It's the thought that counts.'

'You're _really_ saying that if anything happened to you both – touchwood,' continued Ron, slamming his hand onto the wooden table, 'that you would let Snape look after your child?'

'I wouldn't trust him to look after so much as a Snargaluff plant,' muttered Neville as he swallowed a mouthful of pheasant.

'Oh, come off it!' cried Harry. 'We're all sitting here because of him! Remember in first year when Quirrell jinxed my broom? Severus was the one who saved me and –'

'Technically,' said Ron through a mouthful of carrots, 'Hermione saved you. Snape only _tried_ to...and stop calling him "Severus", it's freaking me out. You're talking about him like he's our friend.'

'And then in third year,' continued Harry, pointedly ignoring Ron, 'when Lupin transformed –'

'You're right, he protected us. But, remember, he also wanted you expelled,' Hermione interjected. 'If Lupin and Sirius hadn't stupefied him, he probably would have succeeded too.'

'What about all he did during the war? Working as a double agent, that was –'

'Really admirable,' said Ginny, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'But that doesn't necessarily make him good godfather material.'

Harry sank into a sullen sulk and the four of them exchanged tense looks.

'So, how's work been for you two?' Hermione asked, addressing Ron and Harry, as she speared a stock of asparagus with her fork.

'The usual,' Ron groaned as he drank his Butterbeer. 'Dark wizards with a penchant for the Unforgivables trying to form a band of faithful supporters.'

Hermione felt her heart stop as she lowered the fork from her mouth.

'You mean...like what You-Know-Who once did?' She looked nervously between Harry and Ron. Ron was shovelling forkfuls of roast bird into his open mouth while Harry merely shook his head.

'A lot of them don't possess the skill or the dexterity to amass such a large following,' he explained as he reached for the sauce-boat. 'But we need to keep an eye out for any shady activity... _and_ we keep tabs on all former Death Eaters, of course.'

'Has there been anything suspicious going on?' she asked, trying to level her tone.

'Not really,' said Harry, tilting his head to the side.

'Not _really_?'

Harry sighed heavily as he lowered his cutlery.

'In the past few months or so, we've noticed that Crabbe, Goyle, Rabastan – the last of the Lestranges – and a few others meet up on the odd occasion and –'

'You don't think that's something to worry about?' asked Hermione urgently.

'We've followed them numerous times, but there doesn't seem to be anything sinister in these...meetings or whatever they are,' he said, gesturing vaguely with his fork. 'A lot of the old gang are locked up in Azkaban, anyway.'

Hermione traced the rim of the glass with her fingertip as she mulled over her next question. Part of her felt torn between her loyalty to Snape, as well as her resolution to stop meddling his privacy, and curiosity about his communications with his former Death Eater comrade.

'What about the Malfoys?' she asked with forced nonchalance.

Harry, however, did not miss the suspicious expression that fleetingly crossed her face. But it was Ron who answered.

'Draco got married,' he said, as he swallowed the last morsel of pheasant. 'A witch named Astoria Greengrass or something like that...Poor girl.'

'What about his father?'

'Lucius defected before the end of the war,' said Ron with a shrug. 'That awful cousin of Yaxley's, who you used to work for in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, made him enrol in the rehabilitation programme so aside from scrubbing bedpans in St Mungo's – or whatever it is that they're forced to do – I don't think he's been doing very much. But he and Avery met up to go to one of the reunions last month, but other than he seems to have kept his nose clean.'

'And you don't think that these catch-ups are...dangerous?'

'Well, they're not breaking any laws,' replied Harry fairly. 'We'll keep an eye out, but until we know for _certain_ that they're up to something, there's little we can do.'

Hermione bit her lip as she sat back in her chair. She did not believe that Snape had any desire to involve himself in a resurrection of the old ways. Judging by his behaviour, he seemed to wish for a troubleless life with minimal bother, but she could not deny that his interaction with his former allies troubled her. She could not fathom the purpose behind their meetings or his motives for joining them as he was not exactly renowned for his social skills.

'I quite fancy a jaunt around Hogsmeade,' said Ron, staring wistfully out of the window. 'You up for it?'

Ginny groaned.

'I'll sit this one out,' she grumbled. 'The last thing I want to do is trudge through the village.'

'I'll stay with you,' said Hermione as the boys got to their feet and departed through the old wooden door of the pub. The mid-September bitter chill flooded through the open door and she gave an involuntary shiver.

'Are you OK?' Ginny asked as she glanced at Hermione.

She nodded in response, wrapping her scarf around her neck.

'Just cold.'

'What was all that about Malfoy?' Ginny asked curiously.

Hermione shook her head.

'Nothing. Just curious,' she said, feigning indifference.

'I wasn't born yesterday,' said Ginny with a smirk. 'Tell me.'

Her green eyes were wide and encouraging and Hermione exhaled heavily.

'I've been such an idiot.'

Glancing towards the bar to ensure Madam Rosmerta was out of sight, Hermione told Ginny the events of the day before.

She watched a flicker of disapproval appear on the red-haired woman's face as she related the part where she entered his private rooms and, when she had finished her story, Ginny gave her a sympathetic smile.

'I know I shouldn't have barged in like that, demanding to know why Malfoy was there. But it startled me. I didn't think that there was the slightest possibility that he kept in touch with his old Death Eater pals...I thought it was all just a front. I didn't think he'd continue to meet up with them after the war, which is making me think that maybe something's wrong...'

'That facade was for You-Know-Who. But Snape was at school with a lot of those men,' replied Ginny gently. 'Lucius was the first one to welcome him at the Sorting Feast.'

'How do you know that?' asked Hermione as her eyebrows furrowed together.

'Harry told me. He didn't tell me everything he saw in the Pensieve, I know that he's keeping something secret and that's his business. Whatever it is, it's between him and Snape. But, going back to Lucius, maybe – in spite of everything that they have done – maybe they are all Snape's got in the way of friends.'

'Well, he's got his colleagues. He's got Minerva and –'

Ginny stifled a giggle.

'I can't imagine that they're on the same wave length. I imagine they get on fine as coworkers, but I doubt it goes beyond that,' said Ginny.

'You're right,' replied Hermione. 'There's no one on the staff of a similar age with the same interests. I guess Lucius and the rest can relate, to some extent, with that life that they once shared. But I just hate the thought of him being around those men. He was never truly like that.'

'Well, he was once.'

'But that was years ago! When he was a teenager, who had barely left school. He changed. The only reason the others gave up the dark arts was that their side lost. I really want to help, but he –'

Hermione faltered and exhaled slowly as she felt choked by the stress and the emotion that the past week had brought.

'I thought perhaps that bitterness and rage derived from the stress of his role as a double agent, but he seems even angrier. He rejects all my attempts to help him and I feel so guilty about yesterday, but just the thought of him returning to that lifestyle when he has another chance at a normal, happy life, it just makes me so –'

'I know you want to help him. But maybe he doesn't want to be helped. You saved him from death, but maybe he doesn't want the life you envisage for him or the life that you think he deserves.'

'I know.' Hermione nodded. 'I just...'

Ginny gave her a sad smile.

'You expected him to be different.'


End file.
